The Angel's Knight
by Philip S
Summary: **Completed** Sixteen years ago Buffy Summers died, sacrificing her life to safe her sister and the world from Glory. Now she is offered a chance to return into a world that has changed beyond recognition. A world where nothing is quite the way it seems.
1. An Offer She Can't Refuse?

The Angel's Knight - An Offer She Can't Refuse?  
  
by Philip S.  
  
Summary: Sixteen years after Buffy's death she gets a chance to live again. For a price.  
  
Spoilers: Everything up to the end of Buffy S5 / Angel S2. Everything after that is different.  
  
  
  
Rating: PG-13  
  
Disclaimer: All characters taken from the TV shows Buffy and Angel are property Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. No infringement is intended.  
  
#  
  
"Where am I?"  
  
"Where do you think?"  
  
"I ... I'm still dead, right? I mean, I was dead once and it didn't last, but this time ..."  
  
"You are still dead, yes, though death for you was never quite what it was for most people. And you're not quite as dead as you were about a minute ago, either."  
  
"You're losing me here, you know."  
  
"Not my intention, sorry. Can I offer you anything?"  
  
"I'm dead."  
  
"No drinks then. Very well. Have a seat." Pause. "Okay, if you want to remain standing, have it your way."  
  
"Why am I here?"  
  
"Well, right to the point then. You are here because we want to make you an offer."  
  
"We? Who is we?"  
  
"We have many names. A few friends of yours usually call us the Powers That Be. It's as good a name as any for what we are."  
  
"Oh. So you're ... God?"  
  
"Something like that. Though none of us has a long, white beard. Or was that Santa Clause? I always get your earthly stereotypes confused."  
  
"Santa was the one with the beard. God has ... I don't know what God looks like. Why don't you tell me?"  
  
"Let's not talk about God so much. Delicate topic, even in these parts. It's not why we brought you here."  
  
"So why did you? Bring me here, I mean."  
  
"As I said, we want to make you an offer."  
  
"Which is?"  
  
"Basically, we want to offer you to return from the dead and become one of the living again."  
  
Silence.  
  
"You what?"  
  
"Will you give me the chance to explain?"  
  
"Sure!"  
  
"Good. Let us start with what has been going on down on Earth in the sixteen years you have been dead."  
  
"Sixteen years? I've been gone for ..."  
  
"You were to let me explain, remember?"  
  
"Sure. Go ahead!"  
  
"Very well. Since you died ..."  
  
"It's really been sixteen years?" Pause. "Oh, sorry. Go on!"  
  
"A lot has happened down on Earth in the meantime. Much of it has revolved around your former lover, Angel. Ah, I see he still gives you that dreamy smile."  
  
"Angel."  
  
"Yes, Angel. He is the most important warrior for our cause at this moment in time. He will play a pivotal role in the upcoming Apocalypse and ..."  
  
"Apocalypse? Another one?"  
  
"No, the one and only. What you have faced during your life, though no doubt world-threatening in nature, were just the preliminaries. This is the real deal. The big title bout. The main event."  
  
"I think I got it. Never mind the sports metaphors."  
  
"Good. As I said, Angel is the key player for our side, our general, if you will. And he has done very well these last few years. For a time we feared he might despair after your death, but he resolved to go on and fight the good fight, as he was sure you would have wanted him to."  
  
"Yeah, I ... well, I was a bit unsure about the whole good fight thing at the end there, but..."  
  
"You still did what had to be done. You always did. We were very proud of you, Buffy. You accomplished a lot during your life."  
  
"My very short life."  
  
"I know. I am sorry about that, believe me. That is part of the reason we want to make you this offer."  
  
"Why do I have the suspicion this offer of yours does not entail a quiet, normal life with a loving husband and 2.5 kids."  
  
"Because you have good instincts. But let me bring you up to date before we come to the offer. As I said, Angel did well these last sixteen years. After he returned from mourning you, he began to expand his operation in Los Angeles. A friend of his, Gunn, had at one time been the leader of a gang of street kids who were fighting vampires. Angel took all of them under his wing, moved them into his hotel, and became their surrogate father, teacher, and protector, all in one.  
  
"He also became good friends with an acquaintance of yours. A girl you gave your second name to."  
  
"Lily? I mean, Anne?"  
  
"Her true name is Sara, by the way, but she still goes by Anne these days. Shortly after you left her in Los Angeles she began helping out in a shelter for homeless kids. She eventually took it over and, about a year after your death, joined forces with Angel. Together they got a large part of the city's homeless kids off the street."  
  
"Not that I'm not proud of what Angel has accomplished, but what has that got to do with an imminent Apocalypse?"  
  
"More than you would think. One of the other side's greatest weapons, Buffy, is hopelessness. And there are so many people these days that have lost all hope. They don't believe that the world is a good place anymore. They believe that darkness, not light, is the prevailing force on Earth. And by believing that, they help make it true. That is one of the reasons why, when Angel moved to Los Angeles, we recruited him to - as your friend Cordelia put it - help the helpless." Pause. "And, incidentally, a lot of the kids they pulled off the streets joined the cause."  
  
"Ah, so this isn't a completely altruistic thing after all, is it?"  
  
"Nothing really is. Though I can honestly say that our cause is to the benefit of your race. Among others."  
  
"Among others?"  
  
"A tale for another time. To continue the story, over time Angel branched out his business. Did you know that he is, in fact, quite well off? Angelus collected a lot of riches across the centuries. Angel was always reluctant to use the money due to the ... means by which the demon acquired it, but he figured that, by using it to help people, he could maybe wash the blood off it.  
  
"At this time the Angel Foundation has shelters in all large American cities, as well as some in Canada and Europe. Most of these serve the double purpose of being training camps for demon hunters. Angel himself stays mostly in the shadows. Your former Watcher, Wesley, is the official head of the Foundation."  
  
"This is so typical of him. Angel was never one for reaping the glory, even when he fully deserves it."  
  
"That hasn't changed. Though many of the kids under his care hold him quite in awe. Despite most of them knowing what he is."  
  
"I bet that would make him blush if he could."  
  
"Most of your former group, your Scooby Gang, have joined forces with Angel as well. Your friends Xander, Tara, Giles, even your sister Dawn. They are all helping him these days. And they are quite good at it."  
  
"I'm glad. Though I wonder, if they're all helping him, what about the Hellmouth? I mean, someone has to be watching it, right?"  
  
"That is no longer necessary. The Hellmouth has ... well, it is a long story, but the gist of it is that the Hellmouth was ... depleted of a large part of its energy some years after your death. It is not quite the demon magnet it once was, though I fear that Sunnydale was all but destroyed in the process. Officially it was an earthquake and they managed to evacuate most of the population before it happened. The town is gone, though."  
  
"Oh! ... I never thought I'd be sad to see Sunnydale gone, but ..."  
  
"You spent the most important years of your life there. It's only natural that you are a bit sad."  
  
"Yeah, I guess so. So everyone's moved in with Angel and he has built quite the army, or so it sounds. Where's the down side?"  
  
"The down side, Buffy, is the fact that the final battle will soon happen. And though Angel and his friends are well prepared we ... to be honest, we fear that Angel might be ... tempted."  
  
"What do you mean, tempted?"  
  
"I mean, Buffy, that we are not the only ones with a stake in this. The other side knows all there is to know about Angel. About you. They also know that most of Angel's motivation for the coming battles, in fact his main reason for being, is you."  
  
"Me?"  
  
"When Whistler first recruited him for our case he showed him you, at the moment you were called. He fell in love with you instantly and it was you that led him out of the shadows he had been hiding in for a century. You are still his driving force, Buffy. His quest for redemption, his need to atone, it can all be traced be back to you. He wants to be a better man for you, even now that he knows he will probably never see you again. But that is part of our problem. Because in the final battle Angel will be facing the First Evil."  
  
"The First?"  
  
"Yes, the entity you have faced once before. The First is a master of illusion and manipulation, but also holds real power. It could, for instance, promise Angel to bring you back to him."  
  
"Is that within its power?"  
  
"No, but it is well within its power to make even someone with Angel's strength of will believe that it did. We fear that his devotion to you, the love he still feels even after all these years, might well be used against him. When the First Evil tried to destroy him back in Sunnydale it did so by making him believe that his continued existence would mean your death. Do you remember?"  
  
"He was prepared to walk into the sun that day. Yes, I remember."  
  
"Your presence saved him. Your words, your continued love. If not for you the First would have succeeded and he would have died."  
  
"There was also the matter of a little freak snow storm, as I recall. You wouldn't happen to have something to do with that, would you?"  
  
"Well, we do what we can. But the point is that this time, without you by his side, Angel might not be able to resist the First. And if he falls there is a very great chance our cause will fall with him."  
  
"So what? You want to resurrect me so I can aid him in the final battle? I mean ... it's that easy? I just say 'go ahead' and I'm alive again to help him?"  
  
"Would that be your answer?"  
  
"Let's make a deal. You stop pretending you didn't know my answer ahead of time and I will stop interrupting you."  
  
"Okay, deal! But I fear it is not that easy. You see, Buffy, there are rules we must follow. Rules that have been agreed upon by both sides, our own and the other. These rules bind both of us from direct interference in the battle. We can influence events, we can give guidance, we can recruit warriors and set them on their paths, but we can't fight the fight ourselves."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"It is a cold war we are fighting, Buffy. It can not be any other way because if we were to fight directly we would inevitably destroy that which we are both fighting for. Our power would lay waste to creation. Neither side wants that. Which is why we created the rules. Both of us. And as long as both sides follow them there might actually be a universe left for the victor to claim after the final battle is finished."  
  
"So ... if I understand you right, just snapping your fingers and putting me back among the living is out of the question."  
  
"In essence, yes. You were a warrior for our cause. One of the best, I might add, but you died. That was the end of your battles, as far as the rules are concerned."  
  
"So what alternative is there?"  
  
"We can't break the rules, Buffy, but we can bend them a lot. Both sides have done that rather often as of late. The snow we sent you on that day, that was us leaning pretty far out the window already. It was hard at the limit of what we are allowed to do and we could only do even that much because of the direct involvement of the First Evil."  
  
"A snow storm won't bring me back, will it?"  
  
"No. Buffy, I want you to understand that you have a choice in this. We can't force you to go back and wouldn't do so even if we could. You have earned your rest many times over."  
  
"Didn't we already agree that ..."  
  
"We did, yes, but I want you to understand that bringing you back, the only way we can bring you back, will not make it easy for you."  
  
"When is it ever easy?"  
  
"The only way we can bring you back without breaking the rules is for you to forget who you were. We will bring your soul back in a new form, but you won't remember that you were ever Buffy Summers. You will have a new name, a new face, a new identity. You will not consciously remember anything of your old life. You will only remember in your dreams and they will give you guidance, that is all. During the waking hours you will be a completely new person."  
  
"Wow! I mean ... you certainly weren't kidding with the not easy part."  
  
"As I said, it is your choice."  
  
"But you said that having me and Angel together would help him defeat the First. How is that supposed to work if I don't know him and he doesn't know it's me?"  
  
"Well, that is the tricky part. He has to find out. You both have to find out. With no rational way for the two of you to recognize each other the rules won't be broken. You have to know through the irrational. Through your feelings. Your souls. Because those will not, can not be changed. Not even through rebirth."  
  
"So ... so you're gambling, is that it?"  
  
"Yes, we are gambling. The stakes have never been higher, Buffy. We wouldn't attempt this if they weren't."  
  
"And how do you think the chances are?"  
  
"With the two of you? Better than with any other two people I could think of. But still, not the best."  
  
"I ... damn! I must really be an idiot to agree to this."  
  
"Is that a yes?"  
  
Silence.  
  
"Yeah! It's a yes. Put me back!"  
  
"Thank you, Buffy."  
  
"Just make sure you get the dream thing right, okay?"  
  
"We will do our best."  
  
#  
  
Los Angeles, September 27, 2017  
  
"I've got a pulse!" The nurse yelled.  
  
Thirty minutes ago Diana Knight, aged 17, had flatlined. The doctors had worked furiously, but finally given up hope. She had been pronounced dead at 15:43.  
  
At 15:46 Diana Knight started breathing again, leaving modern medicine at a loss as to how this miracle had happened.  
  
No one noticed that the color of her eyes had changed during the thirty- three minutes she had been dead. No one realized that Diana Knight was gone.  
  
And someone else now in her place.  
  
THE BEGINNING 


	2. Words of the Prophet

The Angel's Knight #2 - Words of the Prophet  
  
#  
  
Los Angeles, October 14, 2017  
  
#  
  
"Angel, is that you?"  
  
"Yes, Cordelia, I'm here. How are you feeling today?"  
  
"Oh, you know! The usual. I think I picked up a few more things that might be of help to us. You still writing all this down?"  
  
"Of course."  
  
"This is like something out of a fantasy novel, you know? The wise woman sits in her room and spouts words of wisdom day and night, leaving it to the poor fellows around her to make sense of her ramblings and somehow discern the future from them. I'm not rambling, am I?"  
  
"Not as such, Cordy, no. It's just sometimes a little hard to make sense of what you are saying."  
  
"Tell me about it. I just wish the Powers would have had enough sense to supply an index with these things. Or at least some kind of schedule so I know where what fits and how. But I guess that would be expecting too much. Would make things much too easy for us good guys."  
  
"Do you want something to drink before we start?"  
  
"No! Angel? How long has this been going on now?"  
  
"What? Your visions? Or just this latest string of them?"  
  
"I know I've had these visions for the last eighteen years, Angel. But I'm afraid I kinda lost track of the nights and days lately. Is it night or day outside?"  
  
"It's night."  
  
"Yeah, might've figured that with you being awake and all. What day is it?"  
  
"It's Saturday. For another ten minutes or so, at least."  
  
"Wow! That makes this ... what? Seventeen nights in a row? Not to mention the days. I don't think I slept. I tried to, but I couldn't. There was always more to be seen. Was ... was someone here all the time? I think I might have said some things while I was asleep. If I was asleep."  
  
"Someone was always here, Cordy. Either myself, Gunn, Fred, or Tara. We wrote everything down."  
  
"Good! Good! I'm getting the feeling it's all going to fit together somehow. Like a puzzle, you know? They're giving me the pieces one at a time, but at the end it will make a full picture. I'm just not sure a picture of what. Have you guys managed to make any sense of it yet?"  
  
"No, I'm afraid not."  
  
"Too easy, right? My bet is we won't understand anything until the final piece is here. Whenever that will be. Maybe then ... do you think they'll let me sleep again? When all the pieces are there, I mean. Do you think I can rest then?"  
  
"I hope so, Cordy."  
  
"You know, I remember scolding you once about not telling me the truth, trying to coddle me up. Now I kinda miss it. There is a place for comforting lies, you know?"  
  
"You threatened to put cinnamon in my blood again if I told you anything but the truth, remember?"  
  
"Did I? Sometimes it's hard to ... Angel, it isn't just the days and nights I'm losing track of. I ...when these visions fill my head I can't tell ... it's not happening to me, is it? The things I see? They're not happening to me."  
  
"No, they don't. You're safe here, Cordy. We're looking out for you."  
  
"I can't tell sometimes. Where the visions end and my thoughts begin. Or is that the other way around?"  
  
"Are you sure you are not cold? We turned up the heat in here, but you haven't worn any clothes in the last three weeks, Cordy. Aren't you cold?"  
  
"I was hoping to get cold, actually, but I don't feel anything. Not hot, not cold, nothing. I just ... I can't stand the feel of clothes on my skin, Angel, not sure why. I mean, hey, who ever thought the day would come when I lost my interest in clothes, right? Still, it ... it almost hurts when there is something touching my skin." Pause. "You said you didn't mind. Me naked, I mean."  
  
"I don't, Cordy, I'm just worried about you."  
  
"You're sweet. And here I was hoping the sight of me naked was having some effect on you, at least. Not the perfectly happy kind of effect, you know, but a woman likes to know she's being appreciated once in a while."  
  
"You are beautiful. Always have been."  
  
"I think I remember that, yes. When I ... when I touch my face I think ... I don't have wrinkles, do I? I mean, I'm 36. That's not exactly old, but shouldn't I be getting my first wrinkles by now?"  
  
"There isn't a wrinkle on you, Cordy. Trust me on this."  
  
"That's just my point, Angel. I ... I haven't aged, have I? Since I got the visions, I mean. I was nineteen when I got them and I think I still look like nineteen, don't I?"  
  
"You haven't aged a day."  
  
"That's just what I feared. Well, there are worse things than being eternally nineteen, aren't there? Anyway, I think I saw a few more things. You got the pen ready?"  
  
"Always."  
  
"Good. I saw a young girl. About seventeen, I think. Her name is ... it's strange. She does have a name, yet it does not ... fit to her. I can't really make sense of it, Angel. Her name is Diana, but I doubt she would turn her head if you called it out on the street. It's as if she has no connection to it."  
  
"Where is this Diana? Does she need our help?"  
  
"I don't know. They're not showing me that. It's like a jigsaw, Angel. Just pieces. I think Diana will to come us, but I'm not sure when. She hasn't already come, has she? Some of what they're showing me is from the past, I'm sure. Do we have a Diana here, Angel?"  
  
"No, Cordy. I know of no Diana."  
  
"Then she will come, I think. There is more. A statue. I'm not sure of what, but it's big. At least man-sized, maybe bigger. There is something draped across it."  
  
"What kind of statue is it? Whom does it show?"  
  
"I ... I think it's a cheerleader. Why are they showing me a statue of a cheerleader? Hmm, I kinda know that statue from somewhere, but I can't tell from where. It's as if I've seen it before. I don't recognize the surroundings, though. It's just ... wasteland. Nothing but bare ground and dust. There are people there. Quite a few people, all of them dressed in black robes. They're ... I think they're worshipping the statue."  
  
"You said something is draped across the statue. Can you make out what it is?"  
  
"It's ... ugh, it's skin, I think. Skin and bones. Like ... you know these mangled bodies they showed in those concentration camp documentaries? The ones they dug up?"  
  
"I was there, Cordy. I didn't need to see any documentaries."  
  
"Sorry, I forget. You're old as dirt. Anyway, that's what it looks like. A mangled, lifeless body draped across that golden cheerleader statue. One would think I'd be used to strange stuff like this by now."  
  
"Anything else?"  
  
"I saw Darla, Angel. Last night. Or last day, I guess. I've been seeing her a lot lately. Did I mention that before?"  
  
"Yes, several times. You were never able to say where she was, though, or what she was doing."  
  
"It's strange. I've been seeing her walking in the sunlight. That's impossible, isn't it? They made her a vampire again. She shouldn't be able to walk in the sunlight. And she hasn't aged, either, so she must still be a vampire, right?"  
  
"She is a vampire, Cordy. I was close enough to be sure of that."  
  
"Yeah, I remember. I saw that, too. They showed me that night in the motel when Lindsey forced you to watch as Drusilla turned her again. I'm sorry we didn't understand back then, Angel. How much that haunted you. How it changed you."  
  
"It was a long time ago. Let's go on to what you've seen. What is Darla doing?"  
  
"Maybe these are images of the past. She was human there for a while, maybe that is why she is walking in the sunlight. There is a girl with her, about the same age as Diana, maybe a year or so younger. I did mention Diana, didn't I?"  
  
"Yes. Continue!"  
  
"She is with the girl a whole lot. Darla, I mean. Her name ... I can't see her name, but Darla ... Darla loves her, I think. I didn't know this hussy could love anyone, but she does. I can see it in her eyes."  
  
"Who is this girl to her, Cordy? A lover?"  
  
"No, not a lover. She is not a vampire, either. She ... she shouldn't be here. This is all wrong somehow. Impossible. Yet somehow she is here."  
  
"I don't understand."  
  
"I don't, either. It's not making any sense. I don't think it's supposed to. And Darla ... she is changed. She looks the same, but she isn't. I can't describe it, but there is something different about her. A bit like ... like the difference between you and Angelus, Angel."  
  
Pause.  
  
"Has someone given her a soul?"  
  
"No, it's not that. I'm sorry, Angel, I can't see any more."  
  
"It's okay, Cordy. Is there anything else you are seeing?"  
  
"There is one image I've been seeing almost constantly lately. Have I mentioned a big torch before? If not I really should have. It's big, really big. It's standing in some kind of hallway somewhere, beneath an arched stone ceiling. Did you ever watch that Lord of the Rings DVD I gave you for Christmas once?"  
  
"I did, yes."  
  
"It looks a bit like that big hall in the mines of Moira, remember that? Only without the Orcs. It's just a big torch and it's burning, burning so brightly. I can't look at it directly, it burns almost as bright as the sun."  
  
"Is anyone there with the torch, Cordy?"  
  
"No, there is no one. It's all alone, but ... but I get the feeling it's not. Not alone at all. I'm not making any sense, I know. It's as if someone is there with it, waiting, but not touching even though it wants to. Maybe it's waiting for the fire to go out, I don't know. I just know it's important somehow. To many people."  
  
"Why do they want it? Why is it important?"  
  
"I ... I can't say, Angel. Those flames, they ... they frighten me. I can't look at them or they'll burn me. They could ... I think they could burn the whole world. I think some people want them to burn the whole world."  
  
"It's okay, Cordy. Calm down! We don't need to figure it all out in one night. You should rest a bit."  
  
"No, I ... I'm okay, Angel. It's not like I will be able to sleep anyway. They won't let me. But that's okay. I mean ... it's important, right? Whatever is happening here, it has to be important, right? Otherwise they wouldn't do this to me. They're the good guys and they wouldn't do this to me if it wasn't really important, right?"  
  
"Yes, I believe it is very important, Cordy. Still, try and get some rest now."  
  
"Okay. I'll try."  
  
"Is the mask helping any? Wesley and Tara spent a lot of time constructing it. Does it help even a little bit?"  
  
"A little, yes. It's ... when I wear it the visions are not quite as strong. Sometimes I can even concentrate on something not related to them. Sometimes ... sometimes I can almost imagine seeing something else again. Something apart from what they are showing me. I know I don't, but it's nice to pretend, just for a while."  
  
"Rest, Cordy. I'll be here until one of the others comes to stay with you."  
  
Silence.  
  
"Angel?"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Do you think ... will they give me my eyes back when all this is over? Will they let me see again?"  
  
"I don't know, Cordy. I don't know."  
  
TO BE CONTINUED 


	3. Stranger in the Mirror

The Angel's Knight #3 - Stranger in the Mirror  
  
#  
  
Los Angeles, October 14, 2017  
  
#  
  
I haven't got the slightest idea who I am.  
  
Funny, right? Here I am, standing in front of a mirror, looking at a face that should be as familiar to me as no other thing in this world. We look into our own face every morning when we get up and brush our teeth, so one would think we should be familiar with it. But here I am, seventeen years old, and I'm looking at my own face in the mirror and have no idea who it is that I'm looking at.  
  
It's not a funny story, let me tell you that. Not funny in the slightest. It's not funny to wake up one day and realize that you remember nothing. No, that is not quite correct. I remember a lot of things. The first thing the doctor asked me when I woke was if I knew what year it is. I knew, of course. 2017, no problem. He asked me who is president at the moment and yes, that I knew, too.  
  
Then he asked me what my name was and there was nothing but emptiness in my head.  
  
How does that work? I mean, how can I remember how to tie shoelaces, but not remember where I bought these shoes? How is it possible that I remember to look left and right before crossing the street, but I don't even know whether or not I can drive a car?  
  
The doctor could not tell me that, either. Amnesia usually isn't that selective, or so he said. One usually forgets everything, either right down to things like talking, walking, even thinking, or just from a specific period of time. He told me of a guy, seventy years old, who thought he was twenty again after a bump to the head. Everything after his twentieth birthday was simply gone, including everything he had learned, seen, heard, or done in that time.  
  
Not with me, though. I remember all the stuff you need to get around the world. I remember what money is and how to use it, I remember how to put on my own clothes and where I can get new ones, I even remember that people usually carry their IDs in their wallet.  
  
That's what I'm looking at right now, my ID. Not for the first time, no. I spent about two weeks in the hospital after I woke up, the first two weeks of my life or so it seemed to me. I didn't have a whole lot to do there, so I went through my things, hoping for some kind of clue as to who I am.  
  
I don't know who I am, but at least I know who I am supposed to be. Right there on my ID it says "Knight, Diana". There is a picture right next to that name that strongly resembles that strange face I see in the mirror, so I guess Diana Knight must be me. Hello, Diana! Nice to meet you. I don't think I've had the pleasure.  
  
The ID says I was born January 1, 2000. A real millennium baby, that's me. I wonder if my parents actually planned it that way. Had sex on April 1 so I would be born on New Year's Day. I can't exactly go and ask them. They are dead, both of them. I probably should feel bad about that, but it's kind of hard to get all worked up over the long-ago death of two total strangers.  
  
They died when I was ten years old, or so the social services lady who visited me in the hospital said. Turns out I'm something of a bad girl, what do you know. By all rights I should be in an orphanage in San Francisco for at least another two months and seventeen days. Apparently I've lived there since my parents died, seeing as I have no living relatives anyone could find and no foster family wanted to adopt a ten-year- old. One year ago I stole away from there, so I guess it can't have been that great a place.  
  
I have no idea what I did the last year, seeing as neither the social services lady nor the police officer who also visited me had any idea, either. I disappeared from the radar screens when I left the tender embrace of the American social system and did not turn up again until September 27, when fire fighters rescued me from a burning building.  
  
They were a little late, though, seeing as I died on the way to the hospital. Smoke inhalation, they said. They tried to revive me and thirty- three minutes after my heart stopped they got me back. Alive and well, that's me. Maybe it was those thirty-three minutes without oxygen that left my brain with more holes in it than Swiss cheese (and how the hell do I know about Swiss cheese anyway?)  
  
As I said, I spent nearly two weeks in the hospital. Not of my own free will, mind you. I might not remember who I am, but I know one thing about myself that no one needed to tell me: I hate hospitals. I don't know whether it's that antiseptic smell, the moaning of the other patients, or the feeling of being reduced to a naked piece of meat in the hands of a few would-be gods in white. I hate hospitals. I knew right then and there, even before the doctor first came and made me realize that I don't know my own name, that I would get out of here as soon as possible.  
  
It took me a while. The first few days I did little else but try and scrounge up some memories while ignoring the pain that came with breathing. My lungs felt like sandpaper and the doctors said I might retain some residual pain for the rest of my life. Man, did I surprise them. My lungs were back in perfect working order three days after I woke up, no sign they were ever pumped full of acrid smoke.  
  
I also had a few broken bones and other assorted injuries. For some reason none of the doctors imagined that these might heal every bit as fast as my lungs. I don't remember much about hospitals (except that I hate them) and medicine in general, but I got the definite feeling that I was healing much faster than I should. Not that I complained, heaven forbid, or told anyone about it.  
  
Even with my head as leaky as it is I knew enough to guess what would come next if I stayed. The social services lady would take me back to San Francisco. Maybe the cop who came to question me about that fire in the building I bunked in would come along for another round of questions I simply could not answer. I would be stuck in that orphanage for another two months and seventeen days. Granted, that's not the longest time in the world, but seeing as I apparently already spent six years there and then decided to skip convinced me that I definitely did not want to go back there.  
  
Besides, I had to stay in Los Angeles. It was, and is, one of the few things I am certain of. No idea, why, but I am. I have to stay in Los Angeles until ... something. Don't ask me, I don't know.  
  
Getting out of the hospital was surprisingly easy. I guess they don't waste a lot of time watching someone whose bones are still supposed to be broken. I wonder whether they'll waste time looking for me. I'll be an adult soon, so why waste the taxpayer's money when they are no doubt hundreds of other kids out there who need to be put into those nice stately institutions?  
  
Kids like the ones holed up in this place I'm currently staying at. No idea how I found it, really. My plan pretty much encompassed escaping from the hospital and that was it. Maybe my skills as strategist aren't the best, because said plan left me wandering the streets of Los Angeles in the middle of the night and even I know that's not necessarily the safest thing to do. I believe there is an old saying, though: What you lack in your head you better have in your feet.  
  
My feet seem to have much better memory than the rest of me, because they brought me right to this place. It's a homeless shelter, or so I've gathered, quite a nice one, too. Not the Ritz, definitely not, but no run- down ruin, either. Most of the people staying here are even younger than I am. I've yet to see any sign of drugs and there has been no fighting, either.  
  
Some people here know me. The guy at the door, a huge black man with muscles to spare, greeted me by name. It actually took me a moment to realize that he was talking to me. Hey, I've had that name for two weeks only. Give me a little time to get acquainted with it, okay? Anyway, he seemed relieved to see me and immediately led me inside, where they gave me something to eat and a place to sleep. My usual place, or so they said.  
  
I guess I know where I spent at least some parts of the last year. Well, of all the places a runaway orphan could be staying at, I guess this one isn't half-bad. Some of the kids here told me that this place is part of some kind of charity or foundation, that's why it's in such a good shape. Well, as long as I got a warm place to sleep in while I try to get my mind back together I don't mind.  
  
Which brings me back to the present, what there is of it. Me staring at my ID. It's become almost a daily exercise for me. I keep hoping that something on that official piece of paper will spark something in my head. I keep going over what little I know about my life, hoping that some it will sound familiar. Hasn't worked so far. It's all just a story to me, and not even a terribly interesting one at that. Girl loses her parents, grows up in orphanage, runs away, ends up in a burning building. Tragic, yeah, but that's about it.  
  
It's someone else's life, not mine. My life began two weeks ago when I woke up in that hospital bed.  
  
Frustrated I put the ID away, knowing I'll probably look at it again tomorrow. And as for sleep, well, I'm not doing too well with that. I keep having nightmares, or so I assume. I don't actually remember them, but I always wake up covered in sweat and shaking. My sleeping bunk is in a large room along with seven others and one of the girls told me that I keep murmuring in my sleep. Something about angels, watchers, and monsters. Man, is my head weird or what?  
  
I've also come to realize that I don't sleep well at night, period. There is this itching under my skin that seems to start as soon as the sun goes down and doesn't go away until it's almost morning. I guess I'm a night person. Only problem is that there isn't a whole lot to do around here at night. The shelter has a policy about letting people wander in and out during the night. If you want to leave after 10pm you're welcome, but don't expect to be let back in before morning. Apparently there is a lot of bad stuff going on around these parts of town at night, so they decided to play it safe.  
  
There are people for whom this rule does not seem to count, though. I've seen them around here quite a few times already. There is this big black bald guy, the kids here call him Gun, which I guess is some kind of tough street name or something. He often comes around here in the late afternoon, gathers a group of the older kids, and leaves with them when the sun goes down. When they leave they look ready for trouble and when they come back they look trashed. Some of them don't come back.  
  
It's probably some kind of gang thing and I really shouldn't get involved in that. I got enough trouble on my plate already without poking my nose into some urban street brawls or other. Still, something about this just rubs me the wrong way. Or maybe the right way, seeing as I'm always fighting the urge to go along with them. It's as if part of me knows exactly where they're going and what they're doing. The same part that wants to go along and do the same stuff, whatever it is. Don't ask me, it's that weird head of mine.  
  
According to the old wall clock in here it's four in the morning when I hear a noise from just outside the window. Every muscle in my body tenses and I can feel a major rush of adrenalin. Something is wrong here, very wrong. My hands clench into fists without conscious effort and I'm on my feet before I even realize I've moved.  
  
This is getting scary.  
  
I'm busy yelling "What the fuck do you think you're doing?" at myself (quietly) even as I'm sneaking out of the sleeping room and into the corridor. The front door of the shelter is locked, but there are plenty of windows. Most of them have bars in front of them, but I noticed one in the back that doesn't. That's my way out. God alone knows why I have to get out of there and investigate that noise, but I have to.  
  
I pass through the kitchen and my fingers close around the nearest available object. A wooden spoon? Great thinking, Diana. Whatever is out there is going to shake in fear when you confront it with the deadly wooden spoon in hand.  
  
Before I can convince my hands to seek a more fitting object to take along I'm standing outside, having climbed out the window as if I've done it a thousand times before. Well, I'm a runaway, ain't I? I probably have done this a thousand times before. Still, I'm not liking this at all.  
  
I can now hear more noise from just around the corner. I don't remember ever hearing the sounds of a fight before, but I'd guess that it would sound something like that. Some grunts, sounds of impact, the likes. I really should be making tracks in the opposite direction, but for some reason my feet don't think so. I'm edging closer to the source of the noise. Stupid feet!  
  
"One's getting away," I hear someone scream about half a second before a big guy runs around the corner and barrels right into me. We both go down and without thinking about it I flip back to my feet. Wow! Where did I learn to do that? Maybe I was a gymnastics freak or something.  
  
The guy who ran into me is back on his feet as well and ... is there something wrong with his face? God, look at that guy. He's got ... are those fangs? Are they making a movie here?  
  
"There he is," someone yells and the freak turns around to look behind him. I should be running, shouldn't I? Just in case this is not a movie. Just in case ... what is that thing? He can't be human, can he? Humans don't have these ... ridge thingies and fangs.  
  
"A hostage would come in handy," he mutters and turns back to look at me. "You just got yourself elected, girl."  
  
"Get away from her!"  
  
Big black bald guy is skidding around the corner now, some of the kids he always takes out at night right behind him. They're armed, all of them. Some of them carry ... swords? I expected guns, but swords? I also see some crossbows and ... stakes? Okay, this night is getting weirder and weirder. I really should be going. Come to think of it I probably should be screaming in fear or something. Interesting that I don't.  
  
Fang guy comes towards me and something clicks inside my head. His hand reaches out towards my throat and a moment later he stumbles back, his nose bleeding. My knuckles smart a bit and I realize I just punched him. Right in the face. Hard.  
  
Before I can even catch my wits my body starts moving along without me again. I spin around and deliver a thunderous kick into the same face I just punched in, taking the creep off his feet. Big black bald guy and the rest have stopped running and are staring instead. Fang guy is prone and in a heartbeat I'm kneeling next to him and ...  
  
Oh my God! I just ... I just jammed that spoon right into his ...  
  
He ... he didn't just turn into dust, did he?  
  
What the hell is happening here?  
  
TO BE CONTINUED 


	4. Wild Country

The Angel's Knight #4 - Wild Country  
  
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110 miles north of Los Angeles, October 14, 2017  
  
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Sunnydale.  
  
I never thought I'd come back here. I've lost count of the times this stupid town almost killed me, and here I am, giving it another chance. I must truly have lost it this time. Well, nobody ever accused Xander Harris of doing too much thinking in his spare time. Or at any time, really. I'm too old to start now.  
  
Hard to believe that I spent over half my life in this godforsaken place. Hard to believe this ever was much of a place to begin with. There isn't much left of it these days. Not much at all, and I'm not just talking about physical presence, you know? One interesting fact I noticed on my way here is that most people don't even seem to remember that there ever was a town called Sunnydale. Nor do most people find it strange that there is a never- ceasing dust storm covering the spot where they don't remember a town having been.  
  
Looks like the old Sunnydale ignorance has spread.  
  
Don't get me wrong, I always knew that Sunnydale's citizens weren't the only ones who liked to ignore reality. I mean, our town had thirteen cemeteries and all of them were filled to the rafters. We were the murder capital of the nation and about ninety-five percent of the murder cases here, most of them involving mysterious puncture wounds or gangs on PCP, were never solved. One would think the FBI would have investigated Sunnydale or something. No one ever did, though. It's as if no one outside the city limit even knew we were there.  
  
Well, we're not there any longer, that much is for sure. I had no trouble finding my way here, but I got the feeling that most other people could have spent their lives searching for the right road and still not gotten anywhere close to the former city limit. Just a hunch I have. I've learned to trust my hunches a long time ago.  
  
Standing where the 'Welcome to Sunnydale' sign used to be, you need a lot of imagination to see even a passing resemblance to the town I grew up in. Most of the buildings were leveled by that last burp of the Hellmouth, leaving only ruins in their place. It's a good thing that deadboy pulled some strings with a few important people he knows and had the town evacuated before it all hit the fan, otherwise I'd be treading through corpses right about now. Or maybe not. The dead did have the tendency not to stay dead in Sunnydale, after all. Probably still do.  
  
So you might be asking yourself, why is that idiot Xander Lavelle Harris going back into the town he almost-died in on a nightly basis for twenty- one long years? Why now, after happily living elsewhere for a decade and a half, does this pea-brain go back to Hellmouth Central? Well, my answer to that question won't raise your opinion of my intelligence, that much is for sure.  
  
I'm here because of a dream.  
  
I've had nightmares for most of my life. Never told anyone about it, or almost no one. Anya knows, of course. Hard not to, seeing as she's been sleeping next to me for quite a while now. I told Willow a long time ago, but only once and never mentioned it again. We never really talked about it.  
  
The nightmares have varied over the years, always dealing with what was the current low in my life. My parents starred for most of the early years, to be replaced by all kinds of monsters and beasties once a certain blonde girl opened my eyes to the darker side of the town I was living in. I had dreams about the future, mostly showing me becoming the same kind of bastard my father was. I had dreams about my friends, condemning me for my uselessness or leaving me as snack food to one demon or another.  
  
They never went away, but I've learned to deal with them a long time ago. One of the good points of constantly dreaming about some sort of really bad and fucked-up version of your life is that your real life seems pretty good in comparison, no matter how hard it might suck at the moment. These last few nights, though, things have been different. A different kind of nightmare took over the movie palace that is my dreams.  
  
It's always the same. That last year in Sunnydale when everything went bad. The year after Buffy died. Damn, it's been sixteen years and it still hurts to think about her. Determined to the bitter end, resolved that she would keep the world safe even if it took beating a god. She did it, she did it all. Saved the world a lot. Then she died, though, and things were never the same afterwards.  
  
We were all too busy with our own grief to see how it affected the one member of our group we always saw as the most level-headed among us. Willow, my best friend as far back as I can remember. She never got over losing Buffy. She blamed herself and was resolved to find a way to make it better.  
  
It started innocently enough. She rebuilt the Buffybot to keep up the illusion that the Slayer was still in town. To keep the demons in check. Okay, we could all live with that. But Willow wanted to extend that little ploy from the demons to the normal people, wanted to let the whole world think Buffy was still alive. Thank God we dissuaded her from that notion. Thinking about the Buffybot trying to behave like Buffy in front of normal people is giving me nightmares of an altogether different sort.  
  
None of us knew that she was planning to do much more than that, though. None of us except Tara, that is. Willow did not think she could do it alone, so she tried to get Tara to help her. Help her do the unthinkable, help her do something that went against all laws of nature, man, and God.  
  
She wanted to raise Buffy from the dead.  
  
Now don't get me wrong. I would have been ecstatic to have Buffy back, but even back then I knew enough about magic and the supernatural to realize that it would be a really, really bad idea to try something this major. Tara thought the same way and tried to dissuade Willow. Only she would not be dissuaded this time and when Tara threatened to expose her plan to the rest of us, especially Giles, Willow did something else none of us would ever have thought her capable of.  
  
She used a spell on Tara and wiped her memory of the whole thing. The planned resurrection, the fight, everything. Used magic to change her lover's mind to her own design. I have a hard time using the word 'rape' in the same sentence as the name of my best friend, but that was exactly what Willow did to Tara.  
  
And then she went ahead and tried to raise Buffy on her own. The only problem was that the thing that crawled out of Buffy's grave that night was something that ... even today I can't describe it. It was dead, but it walked. It looked a bit like Buffy, but none of us would ever have mistaken it for her. It even retained enough of Buffy's memories to know about and come looking for us, but it wasn't her. Not even close.  
  
That thing would have killed us all that night if not for Spike. Yeah, Spike, the fangless wonder. Almost makes me feel bad for treating him like shit for those two years he was among us with that chip in his head. Of course then I remember how many people he killed in his long existence and I regain something of a perspective on the saintliness of William the Bloody, but it does not change the facts. He saved all our butts that night and paid for it with his own. The thing ripped his heart out even as he beheaded it.  
  
The shock of seeing all that broke the spell and Tara remembered everything. God, I never would have thought her capable of that kind of fury. For a moment back then I thought she would kill Willow with her bare hands. Instead she left town and ... I think she took someone with her, but I can't remember. Well, can't have been that important.  
  
With Spike dead, Tara gone, and Giles having moved back to England only a few days before that terrible night, there were only three of us left. Willow, Anya, and me. And despite everything that had happened I was too blind to see what was happening to my best friend. Yeah, I was angry with her, but I was too blind to see that the guilt she displaced was not because of the things she had done. No, she only felt guilty for having failed, for having made a mess of things. She was determined to try again, determined to make everything better. And not hesitant to barrel right over everyone who did not see things her way.  
  
To this day I do not know how much of my blindness that year was the result of some sort of spell Willow might have cast over me. I honestly don't know which way I'd prefer it: My best friend manipulating me or me having been so blind all on my own. Maybe it's better that I'll never know.  
  
Finally even I could no longer ignore all the things Willow was doing and, not having the heart to fight with her about it, I took my brand-spankin' new wife Anya and left town. I just turned tail and ran out on my best friend while she was consumed by the darkness. Yeah, I know that sounds like something out of a George Lucas movie, but that is exactly what happened. Willow fell to the dark side, too fascinated with everything she could do with her fancy magical powers to realize what it was doing to her. I don't know whether she ever saw how wrong it was to manipulate Tara like that, to try and twist nature that way.  
  
And it all ended with this. A destroyed town, the ruins hidden behind a perpetual curtain of dust. None of us know exactly what happened here the day Sunnydale died. Cordy got a vision about it and saw Willow undertaking some kind of ritual. Deadboy somehow convinced the feds to evacuate the place. A few hours later Sunnydale was gone.  
  
I never went back here, but I know deadboy and a few of his guys did. They looked for survivors and wanted to make sure that nothing extra-evil had slipped out of the Hellmouth. They found nothing, though. More than that, apparently the Hellmouth exudes a lot less of the demonic mojo now than it did back when I called this place home. Whatever Willow did seems to have drained the thing but good.  
  
I still don't know whether or not Willow died in this place.  
  
That's why I'm here. I guess it's long overdue, fifteen years overdue. I didn't want to come back because I didn't want to see what my best friend had done, the devastation she had wrought. Somehow, as long as I didn't see it with my own eyes, I could still somehow keep Willow and the catastrophe that happened here separate. In my mind she is still the girl I knew. Babbling, innocent, so incredibly shy and cute.  
  
Then the dreams started. I keep seeing her here, over and over again. I saw what she did to Tara, I saw how she raised that thing from Buffy's grave, I think I even saw that damn ritual she did that doomed this town, even though I can't possibly know anything about it. And I also think ... no, I know ... that I have to be here. Something survived here, something is unfinished. The Hellmouth is still here, no matter how quiet it has become. No doubt a lot of the monsters survived underground.  
  
And maybe ... maybe my best friend is still alive here somewhere.  
  
So here I am, standing on the former Sunnydale city limit, trying to work up the nerve to dive into that perpetual dust storm and look for ... something. Well, I might be completely insane and stupid, but at least I've got a little help. Long gone are the days when we took on the Sunnydale nights with nothing but stakes and bad puns. These days we use the latest in high-tech to wipe out the beasties.  
  
Things like the scanning array deadboy's people put up around the city limit, just in case anything ever tries to sneak out of here. The latest in motion and infrared detectors, coupled with magical runes that will pick up those things that can fool the eye of the camera. All linked up to a handy satellite up in orbit, one that keeps the computer in my car up to date about everything that's moving inside Sunnydale. Or at least everything within the first mile or so; beyond that they can't see much, either.  
  
My car, a nice little all-terrain number that could drive on the surface of the moon (or so says the ad) is loaded with everything one might need to take care of just about every demon we ever came across. All the best toys you can buy with a really big, blood-stained portfolio and about three centuries of cumulative interest. Say what you want about deadboy's evil alter ego, but the bastard was a shrewd investor.  
  
Okay, Harris, you've been standing here long enough. Time to get back in the car and do it, otherwise you might as well turn around right now and head back home. Not the worst idea in the world, that. Ah, what the hell. I climb back in and hit the gas pedal, causing the hummer to jump right into the dust storm. Visibility drops like a stone and I'm profoundly thankful for the various computer screens in front of me.  
  
Who needs eyes when you got high-tech?  
  
A lot of things are still moving inside what was once Sunnydale. About half a mile to my left the scanners pick up a large group of what are probably Mantises. Natalie French's little bastard children. I guess we missed a sack of her eggs when we cleaned out her basement and hacked her into tiny little pieces all these many years ago. God, were we young then. Giles theorized that they hatched when the Hellmouth erupted. Nothing like a good dose of hellish energy to make up for not having a giant Praying Mantis to incubate those little babies.  
  
Several vampires are moving among the ruins as well. Easy to identify those. Motion trackers pick them up, infrared doesn't. It's a lot harder with most other forms of demons. Then there are the zombies. They don't emit a lot of heat, either, and don't move a lot unless there is something (make that someone) to feed on close by. From what deadboy told me it seems that most of the cemeteries emptied out when Willow pulled her ritual. These days the dead of Sunnydale are mostly standing around doing nothing, happily rotting away, waiting for some fresh meat to come into range. Not a lot of that to be found here, of course.  
  
I drive down Rivelo and some part of my brain insists on muttering "fresh meat on wheels anyone?" over and over again.  
  
Soon the streets are so cluttered with debris and ruins that I have to leave the car behind. I really don't want to be here without a solid, bullet-proof box of metal all around me, but I guess I don't have much of a choice. At least I know that I'm not the only living human being around here. I'm out of range of the perimeter scanners, but the little buggers I have in my car have picked up quite a few heat signatures. Humans, or maybe some sort of demon species that can pass really well. What would humans be doing in here? Don't tell me they got some sort of weird dreams, too.  
  
Getting out of the car makes me feel really, really bad. Okay, so I'm wearing a suit that masks my heat signature and prevents any sort of scent from leaking out, but somehow that does not make me feel all that safe. I'm packing enough firepower to blow a regiment of vampires to bits. Nope, not feeling safe with that, either. Looks like I have to go through this without feeling safe. Lucky me.  
  
There are barely any recognizable landmarks around and the dust storm reduces visibility to about five meters in all directions. Still, I know exactly where I'm heading. When I saw Willow perform that damn ritual in my dreams I also saw where she did it. That lovely place I was certain I wasn't going to get out of alive. Looks like I'm going to give it another shot at killing me.  
  
Sunnydale High. What's left of it.  
  
Never knew ruins were so damn popular. I can see quite a few zombies and vampires sniffing around, even a Mantis or two, but most of the figures I see seem to be one hundred percent human. Or as human as people who like to wear black robes and spend their free time at Hellmouths can be. What are they all doing here? What's with the unified dress code? Why haven't they been eaten yet?  
  
Okay, there's but one way to find out, isn't there? Let's see if I can get my hands on one of those nifty black robes. Have I mentioned that I have to be completely fucking crazy to be back in Sunnydale? Yeah, thought so  
  
TO BE CONTINUED 


	5. Just Call Me Slayer of the Morning

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Many, many thanks to all the people who left reviews for this story. It really helps a guy write faster, so don't let up on it!  
  
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The Angel's Knight #5 - Just Call Me Slayer of the Morning  
  
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Los Angeles, October 14, 2017  
  
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I've had a lot of strange nights in my life, let me tell you that. Comes with the territory when you grow up in a neighborhood that's infested with the undead. You either learn to handle the things that crawl out of their holes once the sun goes down or you die, no third way about it.  
  
Another thing I've gotten used to is that life is in the habit of throwing you one hell of a curveball every single time you think you have it all figured out. When me and my crew were out kicking vampire ass every night I met a vampire with a soul that turned my world upside down and inside out. When I thought I had said vampire all figured out he changed due to his honey's death and started his twelve-step program of ridding the world of all evil.  
  
And now that I've more or less gotten used to being part of a worldwide crusade against demons of all kind while still patrolling my old neighborhood along with my crew, now something like this happens.  
  
"Mind telling me what happened out there?"  
  
The girl sitting across the table from me has confused written all over her face. Her hands are still clutching that damnable wooden spoon she jammed into that vampire's chest not ten minutes ago. Man, I never considered a spoon a lethal weapon before. Shows what I know.  
  
"I was sorta hoping you could tell me that, Gun," she said. "What kinda name is Gun anyway? Some kind of street name? Why'd you name yourself after a pistol?"  
  
"It's Charles Gunn, damn it! Two 'N's, as you well know, Diana. What kind of game are you playing here, girl?"  
  
She looks up, seeming surprised.  
  
"Oh, so you know me?"  
  
I laugh, but it ain't funny. "Diana, stop giving me shit, okay? Of course I know you. You've been a regular here for half a year. What is the matter with you? And how did you know how to kill that vampire?"  
  
She looks at me as if I'm crazy. Yeah, I've seen people looking at me like that before.  
  
"Vampire? Okay, now which one of us is handing out shit here? There ain't no such thing as vampires."  
  
"Riiiight! And that guy out there just had a serious case of disintegration disease. No more games, kid! Vampires are real and you obviously know it. You staked that thing like an expert, so where did you learn that?"  
  
She looks down at her hands like they're the only thing making sense in the world and I get the feeling she's not giving me shit. Something has changed about her. Okay, granted, I don't know her too well. It's hard to keep track of everybody when you've got half a dozen shelters in this city alone, home away from home for several hundred kids. Most of the time I manage to remember their names, but that's about it.  
  
I do remember, however, that Diana was not the kind of girl who went out in the middle of the night and staked vampires. Or so I thought, at least.  
  
"I ... I don't remember," she finally says. "Not you, not this place, nothing."  
  
Say what?  
  
"I was in some kind of accident," she continues. "Or so they tell me." She gives a bitter laugh. "As far as I can tell my life began about two weeks ago when I woke up in the hospital."  
  
Okay, with most people I'd beat them upside the head for trying to sell me a story like that, but over the years I've gotten pretty good at reading people. It's a survival trait in this kind of business. You gotta be able to tell whether the nice-looking momma across the street is smiling at you because she digs you or because she wants to make a lunch outta you. If you go out every night to hunt down the undead you gotta be able to read the people you take with you because your life depends on them watching your back.  
  
I don't think Diana is lying to me.  
  
"You got ... what? Amnesia?"  
  
"Something like that. Doctors couldn't really figure it out. I remember a lot of general stuff, you know? Who's president, who won the world series, the likes. Nothing about myself, though. It's all one big blank."  
  
She looks up at me from behind a curtain of dark hair and there is fear in those eyes. There are quite a few types of fear, you know? The one that gets you when a vamp is about half a second away from twisting your head off is nowhere near the worst of them. I've seen the one in her eyes quite a few times before. It's the look you get when you find yourself in a world that stopped making sense and haven't got the slightest idea what to do next.  
  
"So ... vampires are real?" she asks, sounding like she expects me to shout out April Fools any moment now.  
  
"Really real, kid. It doesn't get any more real."  
  
Is it the light in here or has she grown a lot paler the last two minutes or so?  
  
"And did ... I mean ... did I ever do something like ... that ... before?"  
  
I give her a smile. "Stake vampires with a wooden spoon? No, I think I'd definitely remember you doing that, kid."  
  
Looks like she only now realized that she's still got the object in question clutched in her hands. She throws it away with enough force to make it shatter against the wall. Okay, I think it's definitely time to lower the tension level in this girl a bit. I don't want her to pass out from having revelations piled on top of her, at least not until I get a few of my own.  
  
"Then ... then how did I know how to do that? Vampires are real? God, what ... what is going on here, Gunn? Isn't it enough that I don't remember anything of my life? This is ... this is a really bad time to find about something like that, you know? I don't have a lot of nights to compare it to, but this one really, really sucked. I just ..."  
  
She seems to deflate, sagging into her chair, looking like a small child about to start crying.  
  
"I just want things to make sense," she mutters, sounding incredibly lost.  
  
I think I'm definitely the wrong guy to handle something like this. Give me a pack of starving vampires any day of the week, but what do I know about consoling an amnesiac teenager who just found out about the seedy underbelly of the world the hard way? This is way out of my territory.  
  
"Hey! Everything all right?"  
  
I look up and see Anne coming into the room. Looks like the cavalry just arrived. I just nod my head in Diana's direction, which tells Anne all she needs to know.  
  
Anne's one hell of a girl. She told me that she was once a really strange number. Gothic chick, wanted to be 'embraced' by the 'Lonely Ones', meaning she wanted to become a vampire. Had a whole lot of romantic notions about the undead from reading too many Anne Rice novels. Wouldn't know it from looking at her today. She's grown into a really tough lady. It definitely ain't easy running a shelter in this part of town and she was barely out of her teens when she started. No one's messing with her, though. Most people know better.  
  
Most people also know there is a certain vampire out there who'll beat the living shit out of anyone stupid enough to make trouble for Anne or her kids, but that's another story. Right now she puts her arm around Diana's shoulder and gives the girl some much needed hugs. I'm really glad I'm not the one who has to do that. I never was any good at that stuff.  
  
"Maybe you should get some sleep, Diana," she tells the girl. "It's been a long night for you and slaying a vampire earns you at least eight hours of uninterrupted sleep and a king-size breakfast in bed, okay?"  
  
Diana just nods, allowing herself to be lead towards one of the few private rooms Anne has in this place. A minute later the kid is tucked into bed and halfway asleep, hopefully without any nightmares waiting in the wings. I still remember the night I met my first vampire. One of the main reasons I keep my head shaved is so people don't notice the white streaks I got as a memento that night. Would clash with my tough macho exterior.  
  
"Good night, Diana," Anne murmurs, brushing some hair out of Diana's face. I think she would have made a great mother. Well, I guess she is one. A mother with several hundred kids to take care of and she does a great job of it.  
  
"Thanks, Lilly," Diana mutters as her eyes fall shut.  
  
Lilly?  
  
Anne stands back up, her mouth hanging open. She looks like she just saw a ghost.  
  
"Lilly?" I ask her, whispering so as not to wake the kid.  
  
She looks puzzled, wearing the mother of all frowns, then just shakes her head and motions for us to leave the room. A minute later we're back in the kitchen. Coffee's gotten cold by now, but I force the stuff down anyway. Night's not gonna get any shorter, I think.  
  
"I called myself Lilly once," Anne says after a long silence, looking down at her clasped hands. "That was years ago. I dropped it long before I started the shelter. How could she ...?"  
  
Her voice trails off. Looks like I'm not the only one with a lot of open questions regarding this girl I thought I knew. There goes the world again, throwing me yet another curveball. And here I thought it would be just another normal night, nothing but vampire's to slay and aching bruises to nurse. I guess I should know better by now.  
  
"I think it's time to call in the experts," I tell Anne. "This girl ... something really strange happened to her, that much's for sure."  
  
I don't need to spell things out for Anne. She's not in the vampire slaying business herself, but she's close enough to it that she's picked up a few things. Things like the fact that a normal human being isn't really capable of thrusting a wooden spoon into a vampire's heart. It takes a lot of strength to do it with a sharpened wooden stake, but a spoon? No way a girl her size could do it without something extra. But where would a girl like her get a dose of supernatural stre...  
  
Oh my God!  
  
With no clear memory how I got there I'm on the phone, having dialed the number for the Hyperion. It rings seven times before someone picks up and each ring is like an eternity to me.  
  
"Angel Investigations," a sleepy female voice answers. "We help the helpless."  
  
"Tara, hi! It's Gunn."  
  
"Charles, hi! Everything all right?"  
  
"Maybe not. I need you to check something for me, girl."  
  
"Certainly. What ...?"  
  
"Did Faith come home tonight?"  
  
"What? I ... I don't know, I was asleep until a minute ago. Why? Is something ...?"  
  
"There is a girl here at the shelter, Tara. A girl with supernatural strength that just staked a vampire with nothing but a wooden spoon for a weapon."  
  
There is a deadly silence on the other end of the line and I know Tara doesn't need anymore clues. To a stranger Tara might seem like a shy little squeaker, but she's anything but. Aside from a whole lot of brains she's also as tough as they come. A few years ago I saw her call lightning down from the sky in order to fry a group of vamps. It's healthy to respect people who can to that kind of stuff.  
  
"I'll go check," Tara says, all sleepiness vanished from her voice. I hear her put the receiver down and her steps vanish into the distance, leaving me with nothing to do but wait and listen to my own thoughts.  
  
Girl with supernatural strength, check! Knows how to kill vampires even though she's never met one before, check! Natural talent for jamming wooden objects into hearts, check! All adds up to one thing. A thing that can only have happened if a certain friend of mine did not return home tonight.  
  
God, I hope I'm wrong. Please let me be wrong about this!  
  
It seems to take forever until Tara picks up the receiver again and I realize I'm holding my breath, waiting for her to confirm my worst fears.  
  
"She's here, Charles," Tara says. "Asleep and unharmed."  
  
Relief floods through me and I almost fall down on my ass, my knees are shaking so badly. Faith is okay. She didn't get herself killed out there. Thank you, God!  
  
Relief aside, though, that leaves me back at square one.  
  
"Then we have a mystery on our hand, blondie," I tell Tara after a minute or so of sighing in relief. "If that's not a new Slayer snoozing in Anne's bedroom right now, what is she?"  
  
"There could be a number of explanations, Charles. I think the best would be for you to bring her here first thing tomorrow. I'll look up a few things and let Giles and Wesley know. And Faith."  
  
"You do that, girl. You do that. My little mystery kid here practically keeled over a few minutes ago, but I'll bring her by as soon as she wakes up."  
  
"I take it she wasn't exactly prepared for that encounter tonight?"  
  
"Not nearly. As far as I can tell the girl's an amnesiac. She was in some kind of accident and remembers nothing further back than the last two weeks. Definitely hasn't made things any easier for her."  
  
"I can imagine. Maybe we can help her make sense of the world tomorrow."  
  
"That would be a plus. See you tomorrow, blondie!"  
  
"Get some sleep yourself, Charles! Good night!"  
  
TO BE CONTINUED 


	6. A Watcher's Doubts

The Angel's Knight #6 - A Watcher's Doubts  
  
#  
  
Los Angeles, October 14, 2017  
  
#  
  
"Is ... is somebody there?"  
  
"Don't worry, Cordelia. I am here."  
  
"Giles? I ... have you been here long? I think I actually fell asleep for once, but I'm not sure. Wasn't Angel here a minute ago?"  
  
"I've been here since shortly past midnight. Angel was called away on Foundation business and I was the only one still awake. I can call someone else if you don't want me to ..."  
  
"No, it's okay, Giles. It's just a little weird, you know? Knowing that you are seeing me like this. Most of the times I still remember you as that stuffy librarian from school."  
  
"I like to think I've grown a little less stuffy since then. The others told me that you can't stand the ... ah ... the feeling of clothes on your skin anymore?"  
  
"Yeah, it's ... it's not an excuse to show off my body to everyone, all right? Though I do have a great body. And not a wrinkle on it, see?"  
  
"Ah ... I didn't ..."  
  
"It's all right, Giles, I'm just teasing you. These days I have to get my fun wherever I find it. Hope it's not bothering you too much."  
  
"No. Whether you believe it or not, I have seen the occasional unclothed woman before in my life."  
  
"Any of them wear really fancy masks, too?"  
  
"No, I don't think any of them did. I do hope the mask is helping a bit."  
  
"A little. How does it look like, anyway? I ... I never really saw it, you know, just ... felt it with my fingers. It feels ... funny."  
  
"I know. It ... well, it's ... silver and ... almost featureless."  
  
"I knew it. They put a big fishbowl over my head, didn't they?"  
  
"No, it's not quite that bad."  
  
"It doesn't have eye-holes."  
  
"No ... ah, I think Wesley and Tara thought that would be ..."  
  
"Redundant?"  
  
"More like counter-productive. If the mask is to seal you off from the worst effects of the visions it needs to be ... well, sealed."  
  
"Well, it is softening things a bit, so I shouldn't complain. I just have a hard time picturing myself with it. And I just know I'm gonna get mask-hair from this thing."  
  
Silence.  
  
"Did the phone wake you, Cordelia?"  
  
"The phone? No, I didn't hear any phone. What time is it anyway? Is it still night?"  
  
"About four in the morning. Faith and Wesley came back from patrol about an hour ago and went straight to bed. The others are all asleep, too."  
  
"What was the phone call about?"  
  
"I don't know. I think I heard Tara answering it. I'm sure if it's important she'll let us know about it."  
  
Silence.  
  
"Giles?"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"I think I had some visions about you while I slept. If I really slept and wasn't just caught in some kind of visiony trance. It's getting harder and harder to tell the two apart, seeing as I'm always having visions anyway."  
  
"Visions about me?"  
  
"Yes. Not that surprising, really. The visions always seem to ... I don't know, reshape themselves according to whoever is close by to hear me talk about them. I mean, most of the time that was Angel and I got visions about stuff only he could stop. There were other times, though. Did I ever tell you about that little interlude when Angel seriously lost it and fired the whole bunch of us?"  
  
"I think Wesley mentioned it once, yes."  
  
"Well, at that time it was just me, Wesley, and Gunn. I still got visions, but they were ... smaller stuff. Stuff the three of us could handle without any supernatural muscle along, you know what I mean?"  
  
"I understand. So tonight you saw visions about me?"  
  
"Yes, I ... it's hard to make sense of them, but I think they're trying to show me something about you. Or maybe show you something about you, I don't know."  
  
"What did you see?"  
  
"A whole bunch of stuff I never needed to see, let me tell you that. Seeing you rocking and rolling to Pink Floyd will send me into therapy yet. I have to admit, though, you didn't look half bad as a young man, Giles. I never would have suspected."  
  
"Ah ... thank you. You received visions about my past then?"  
  
"Yes, I ... Giles, can I ask you something?"  
  
"Certainly."  
  
"You did a lot of black magic stuff when you were young, right? I mean, we did get a whiff of it with that whole Eyghon nonsense."  
  
"I ... I did quite a few things I'm not proud of in my youth, Cordelia. Black magic was part of it, too. Why are you asking?"  
  
"Because ... well, I got a vision showing you and Buffy. She was really young and ... wearing a cheerleader outfit. Which is strange, 'cause she never did make the squad, did she? And Amy was there, too, also a cheerleader. That ring any bells for you?"  
  
"Hmm. I assume that must have been shortly after I came to Sunnydale. When Amy's mother switched bodies with her daughter and tried to become a cheerleader again."  
  
"Oh, yes, I remember that one. She blinded me back then. Well, I guess she did give me a little glimpse of the future there, didn't she? Dirty bitch!"  
  
"What else did you see in your vision?"  
  
"Not much, I just heard you saying something to Buffy about how you had just performed your first spell casting. But ... but that can't be right, can it? You did cast a lot before that, didn't you?"  
  
"Yes, I did. I don't remember exactly what I said that day, Cordelia, but I assume I ... well, I didn't want my past to come to light in front of Buffy, so I ... I lied."  
  
"I am not sure you did, Giles."  
  
"What are you talking about?"  
  
"Another of my visions showed you and Wesley, back when he was still a useless dweep. The two of you had gotten yourself kidnapped by some vampires and been brought before a really, really fat demon."  
  
"Balthazar, yes. I remember that."  
  
"Then Angel and Buffy arrived to free you and you ... you grabbed a sword from one of those warrior vampires and proceeded to kick serious butt."  
  
"I ... thank you for what I suspect was a compliment, but ..."  
  
"Giles, when did you learn to fight like that?"  
  
"I don't under..."  
  
"Those vampires were a dueling cult of some kind, right? Which means you outfought a couple of creeps with centuries of sword-fighting experience who also happened to be about ten times stronger and faster than you. And that from the guy who spent most of the preceding two years being knocked out by whatever monster of the week came along. How did you know how to do that?"  
  
"Every Watcher is taught basic fighting techniques, Cordelia, and ..."  
  
"Those weren't basic fighting techniques, Giles, those were serious ass- whooping techniques. Try to remember! When did you learn how to fight like that?"  
  
Silence.  
  
"I ... I am not sure. I assume I picked it up somewhere. What are you getting at, Cordelia?"  
  
"If I knew that I'd be a whole lot happier, Giles. These visions about you I've been getting ... I have no idea how they fit into this whole big puzzle thing the Powers have been sending me these last few weeks, but as far as I can tell they're showing me ... inconsistencies. Things that don't make any sense."  
  
"Such as?"  
  
"I saw visions of you and Ms. Calendar, Giles. I ... sorry, I know this is still a painful topic for you, but ... when you were flirting with her, and I'm using that term extremely loosely, you barely got two words out. Yet barely more than a year later you had a half-naked woman running around in your apartment and didn't even blush when Buffy came by and saw it all."  
  
"Cordelia, I don't think my personal life is of any ..."  
  
"It's all about your personal life, Giles, don't you see that? The visions have been showing me so many pieces of your life, but they simply don't fit together. I can't explain it, I'm sorry. I'm just telling you what I've been seeing."  
  
"If you've been seeing just the occasional outtake from my life, Cordelia, then of course the pieces won't fit together. And a life isn't really a straight-lined affair, after all. I changed over the years, especially during my years in Sunnydale. We all did, as you can personally attest."  
  
"This isn't about change, Giles, this is about trying to make sense of why your life doesn't make sense. ... Okay, that sentence didn't make much sense, either, but are you getting what I'm saying? If it's so simple then tell me! Where did you learn to sword fight? When did you turn into a womanizer? Did or didn't you cast any spells before that little episode with Amy's homicidal mom?"  
  
"I ... this is nonsense, Cordelia. I don't ..."  
  
"You don't have those answers, do you? And I bet there are a hundred other things that they just haven't gotten around to showing me yet. I think ... I think it all leads back to that little demon summoning you did with Eyghon way back in your Austin Powers years. They didn't show me anything prior to that."  
  
"That is a part of my life I've been trying to forget and I would very much appreciate it if you wouldn't drag it up again."  
  
"I don't have much of a choice in this, Giles. They're showing me the Life of Giles in full Technicolor and I can't help but see it. And it has to be important, otherwise they wouldn't show it to me."  
  
Silence.  
  
"They showed me one thing that isn't from your past, Giles. One thing I think you have to take care of."  
  
"And that would be?"  
  
"I saw that bastard friend of yours, but I forgot his name. You know, the one who turned people into their costumes one Halloween."  
  
"Ethan? You saw Ethan Rayne?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Do you know where he is? We've been trying to track him down for years now."  
  
"Did we? Oh, yes! I remember now. He ... he did something to Tara once, didn't he? Tried to seduce her to the dark side or such. It's getting hard to remember stuff from my own life sometimes when there are so many other lives in my head."  
  
"Where is he, Cordelia? Where is Ethan hiding?"  
  
"I don't think he's exactly hiding, Giles. He ... I believe he's dying."  
  
"Dying?"  
  
"He's in a hospital in New York. I saw one of the doctors and they said he has some kind of neurological disease. Progressive stuff. It's quickly turning him into a vegetable."  
  
"Well, I guess that is a merciful end for him. He deserves much worse than that."  
  
"You have to go see him, Giles."  
  
"I don't think so. If he's dying then there is no reason for me to..."  
  
"That's exactly the reason why, Giles. You have to go there before it's too late."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"I don't know. I just know that you have to go. I think there is something he has to tell you, something very important."  
  
"I don't know about this, Cordelia. Ethan and I ..."  
  
"You were lovers once, I saw that, too. And believe me, I really didn't want to."  
  
Silence.  
  
"You have to go, Giles. He ... he doesn't speak much anymore, but he keeps repeating one thing over and over again."  
  
"What?"  
  
"He's saying 'I am sorry, Rupert'. He's saying it day and night, all the time."  
  
"I ... I will see if I can find someone else to sit with you, Cordelia. I'll be right back."  
  
"Giles, are you gonna go see him? ... Giles? .... Giles, are you still there? ... Giles?"  
  
TO BE CONTINUED 


	7. It Takes a Slayer to Know a Slayer

The Angel's Knight #7 - It Takes a Slayer to Know a Slayer  
  
#  
  
Los Angeles, October 14, 2017  
  
#  
  
A few small towns in Canada have been raided by what seems to be a Wendigo. Heather Douglas, our regional chief up there, has deployed a squad to hunt it down, but might need a little supernatural muscle to make it work. I make a small notation on my computer to have either Faith or Angel ready to fly up there.  
  
Our Paris office has discovered a new potential Slayer and is currently filling the parents of the girl in on things. Pierre Trudeau, the Watcher selected for her, hopes to start her training within the month.  
  
Oz has called in from Colorado. His pack is still reluctant about leaving their seclusion in order to aid us in our struggle, but it appears that some of the younger wolves in the community are eager and willing. He estimates that the elders will give their okay within the next week.  
  
Riley has sent an email from Washington. Our government liaison has agreed to supply us with the new phosphoric ammunition that has proven quite affective against vampires and another few species of demons in return for our providing security against supernatural threats for the president and the congress. He stayed well within our bribe budget.  
  
Construction on the new shelters in Paris, Berlin, and Rome is progressing on schedule.  
  
Angel has left a note that he will be away for a few days (note: Faith might have to deal with the Wendigo then) for a conference with the New England Coven. Apparently some of their seers have information that, together with everything Cordelia is seeing, might help us predict whatever catastrophe will head our way next.  
  
Another twenty pages of recordings from Cordelia's room have been logged into our network. Fred says she'll have it transcribed soon and will try to fit it into the growing puzzle we are assembling.  
  
Xander has checked in, his final message before passing across the Sunnydale perimeter. If he doesn't check in again within 48 hours I will have to send a squad in after him.  
  
Rupert has left rather suddenly last night, not telling anyone where he is headed. Left a note that he can be reached on his mobile if a crisis should arise.  
  
I lean back in my chair, rubbing my fingers across my tired eyes. It's hard to imagine that there was a time when I feared the cause would go along without me. I have to smile, remembering my days as a 'rouge demon hunter'. Things have certainly changed since then, haven't they? For the better, I'd say, except maybe for the masses of paperwork I have to deal with every day.  
  
Yawning, I look at the clock. Only ten in the morning and on a Saturday at that. I got six hours of sleep last night, which is actually not that bad. Of course Faith is still happily snoring the day away, but I can hardly blame her for that. It was a rough night yesterday; quite a few vampires were out on the street. It seems that ever since Sunnydale was destroyed most of the demons that used to make their home there have moved to Los Angeles. Even with Gunn and his people patrolling all over the town there is always a lot of work left for the Slayer.  
  
I try and go out along with her as often as my other duties allow. No matter that she is the longest-lived Slayer in history and quite capable of taking on just about everything she is liable to meet out there, I still can't help but worry. I guess that is the lot of a Watcher. Especially one that has been given a second chance to guide a Slayer he has failed once before.  
  
"Wesley?"  
  
I look up and see Tara at the door to my office. A steaming cup of coffee is in her hands and she looks as if she did not get too much sleep last night.  
  
"Good morning, Tara. Is something the matter?"  
  
She comes in and sits down across from me, stifling a yawn.  
  
"I've been awake since four in the morning, that's all. Gunn called last night and I've been researching a little mystery he has on his hands."  
  
"A mystery?"  
  
"Yes. Apparently he met a girl last night. A girl that fought and killed a vampire with nothing but a wooden spoon for a weapon."  
  
Our eyes meet and I can imagine how worried Gunn must have been at that particular moment. I would be, too, if I hadn't seen Faith alive and snoring but a few minutes ago.  
  
"Gunn says she knows nothing about vampires, was completely shocked when it crumbled into dust. Apparently she went completely on instinct."  
  
I nod, puzzled. It could be Gunn has found another potential Slayer, yet I find that somewhat unlikely. Potential Slayers, while usually displaying an above-average skill when it comes to combat and handling weapons, usually don't have the instincts, not to mention the strength, for battling vampires until the moment they are actually called.  
  
"Is he bringing her here?"  
  
"Yes, he should be arriving momentarily. I just wanted to bring you up to date."  
  
"Did your research last night yield any results?"  
  
She shakes her head, tiredly sipping on her coffee. "No, I fear I neglected my sleep for nothing. There is too little to go on. She could be anything from a half-breed to someone magically enhanced. The most obvious solution would have been her being the Slayer, of course, but that's hardly possible."  
  
I nod again. There was but one time in history when two Slayers existed and that time ended with Buffy's death. Ever since that dark day Faith has been the only Slayer and unless I'm far less observant than I think I am she has not happened to be clinically dead at any time in the last few years.  
  
"A mystery indeed," I muse. "We should probably wake Faith for when this girl gets here. I've found that the instincts of a Slayer are usually far more proficient in figuring out the threat potential of a newly encountered entity than anything else."  
  
"So you want her to take a look at the girl and kick her ass if necessary," Tara summarizes, causing me to smile. She has certainly changed from the shy girl I first met when she moved here from Sunnydale all these years ago. Last year I actually saw her manage to make Faith blush and stutter (a potential sign of the apocalypse if there ever was one) by offering (jokingly, I think) to help my Slayer take care of her being, as she puts it, hungry and horny after patrol.  
  
"So to speak," I agree with her summary.  
  
"You do realize Faith will be in a foul mood to begin with if we wake her this early in the morning."  
  
"A situation not to be avoided, I fear. Not to ridicule our own prowess in the demon-fighting area, but if we find ourselves facing a stranger with supernatural strength I'd rather have someone equally equipped standing ready on our side."  
  
Tara laughs and drains the last of her coffee.  
  
"I'll go wake her then. If all else fails I will teleport myself out of harm's way."  
  
I manage to get another few bits of paperwork done before I hear Gunn announcing his presence in the lobby. Leaving my desk behind I walk out to take a look at his little mystery, finding myself quite curious about this girl myself. Even with our organization as large and well-equipped as it is these days, we are always short on people who can actually go hand-to-hand with creatures that can bend steel bars with ease.  
  
The girl walking beside Gunn certainly does not look like she might be one of those people. One of the first things one has to learn in our line of work is, of course, that looks usually are deceiving.  
  
Maybe five foot six or seven, long black hair, pale and looking rather uncertain about her current circumstances. Hardly surprising, I guess. She can't be older than eighteen judging by her looks, probably younger. Her baggy clothing prevents me from assessing her level of physical fitness, but I doubt that any normal girl of that size could jam a wooden spoon into a vampire's chest.  
  
"English, hi," Gunn greets me. "Diana, this is Wesley Windham-Pryce. Wesley, this is Diana Knight."  
  
The girl hesitates a moment before she shakes my offered hand, her entire posture screaming weariness. I wonder whether that is solely caused by the strange turn her life has taken. If Tara was correct this girl knew how to fight vampires even though she never knew they existed. Maybe she can sense that she is in a vampire's home?  
  
"Good morning, Diana. Did you sleep well?"  
  
"I guess," she mumbles, looking around the lobby.  
  
"Why don't we go into my office and have a talk? Gunn here tells me you had quite the exciting night."  
  
She hesitates again, but Gunn gives her an encouraging smile and we walk back inside. He pulls up a chair for her and we all sit down, Diana's eyes still looking every which way.  
  
"Would you like something to drink?" I ask her.  
  
"No, I ...," she begins, finally looking at me directly. "Gunn said you ... you might be able to help me figure out what ... what I did. How I did it. I mean ..."  
  
"I understand. And I certainly hope that I can help you. How about we start with you telling me exactly what happened last night."  
  
It takes her a while, but eventually she tells us everything. How she woke up in the hospital with no memory of her life. How she found Anne's shelter without any conscious effort. How she was drawn out into the alley by the sounds of fighting and found herself slaying a vampire by sheer instinct.  
  
When she finishes she looks at me expectantly. I wish I could give her an easy answer. It seems this girl has quite the ordeal behind her and I doubt it will get easier for her anytime soon.  
  
"Diana," I begin, "there are a couple of people I want you to meet. People who might be able to offer some explanations regarding your situation."  
  
She looks at me quizzically, but before I can explain further the door to my office flies open and one of the people I was just speaking about stalks in. Rumpled hair, eyes still bleary from sleep, a steaming cup of coffee clutched in one hand, Faith looks at me with a less than pleased look in her eyes.  
  
"Okay, Wes! I hope you have a good reason to drag me out of bed this early in the morning. What's the bad?"  
  
I open my mouth to explain, but suddenly Faith's head snaps around and she is looking at Diana, who is looking back at here in turn. There are almost identical looks of confusion on both their faces. The coffee cup drops from Faith's hands and shatters on the floor.  
  
"Faith?" Gunn asks. "What is it?"  
  
Tara has come into the office behind Faith and is now also staring at the two of them, eyes wide. I know that Tara has a strong talent for seeing things human eyes don't normally see. Auras, hidden things, cloaked objects, you name it, she can see it. What is she seeing right now? What are Faith and this girl seeing in each other?  
  
"Wicked," Faith whispers, still staring at Diana.  
  
"Tara?" I inquire softly in the witch's direction, feeling non-too sure about snapping a Slayer and another supernaturally strong person out of their stupor.  
  
"They're humming." Tara turns to look at me. "It's like ... like two energy fields operating on the exact same wavelength. Their auras are so incredibly in synch, I ... I've never seen anything like that before."  
  
No, but I think I have. Or at least I have read about something like this before. Back in the days of the Council, the time when I was first appointed as Faith's Watcher, I had a seer sent to Sunnydale for research purposes. His sole purpose was to take a long and thorough look at the impossibility we were facing at that time. He looked at the two Slayers, Buffy and Faith, and we hoped he could tell us what having two Chosen Ones at the same time might mean.  
  
He used almost the exact same words as Tara just did.  
  
"She's a Slayer," Faith finally says, snapping out of the trance. "Wes, how is that possible? She's a Slayer!"  
  
"Are ... are you certain, Faith?"  
  
"Fuck, of course I'm certain! There's no way I could ever forget a feeling like that! She's a Slayer or I never staked a vampire before."  
  
"What's a Slayer?" Diana asks, looking even more confused than before.  
  
I sigh and give her a short explanation. One girl in all the world, meant to destroy vampires and demons. It's been a long time since it has been necessary to explain this to anyone. I certainly never thought I would be the one to unveil it to a new Slayer.  
  
When I'm finished Diana just stares at me, her eyes begging me to say I'm kidding. I wish I could, child. I wish I could.  
  
"Okay, something is really strange here, right?" Gunn inquires. "Last time I checked Faith wasn't dead."  
  
"Still master of the obvious, eh?" Faith sneers at him. Lord, I wish those two would finally get over each other. The way they keep sniping at each other ever since their break-up, well, let's just say it's worse than Cordelia and I ever were back in those days when Angel threatened to stake himself unless we stopped the name-calling and hair-pulling.  
  
"Mr. Pryce," Diana looks up at me. "What ... what happens now? I mean ... what happens to me if I'm really ... God, I can't believe this is happening to me. I wish I could just wake up."  
  
"This isn't a dream, kid," Faith tells her, putting a hand on her shoulder. "Believe me, this is as real as it gets."  
  
Yes, it certainly is. The question remains, though. What happens now?  
  
TO BE CONTINUED 


	8. A Key to Glory, a Ghost Among Men

The Angel's Knight #8 - A Key to Glory, a Ghost Among Men  
  
#  
  
Los Angeles, October 14, 2017  
  
#  
  
"Hi, Cordy!"  
  
"Who's there? I ... I don't think I recognize your voice."  
  
"I'm not surprised. But maybe it will come back to you in a few moments. Or maybe it won't. Things have gotten murkier as of late. Maybe I'll finally fade from existence altogether. Can't happen too soon, really."  
  
"I don't ... Dawn? Dawnie, is that you?"  
  
"So you still remember. Cool! Of course you're gonna forget me the moment I walk out the door, but it's nice to be remembered even for a minute or two."  
  
"You ... you've been living here with us all this time, haven't you? You came from Sunnydale with Tara when she moved here."  
  
"Yeah. I figured I'd rather stay with the witch that didn't raise my sister as a brain-eating zombie. Not that it made much of a difference. Sometimes I wonder what would have happened to me had I stayed in Sunnydale. You think a burping Hellmouth could have killed a ghost?"  
  
"You're not a ghost, Dawn!"  
  
"Yeah, you'd know. How is Dennis anyway?"  
  
"I am not really sure. When the visions got more intense I moved here. Tara moved into my old place. I guess she is taking care of him now. Why don't you ask her?"  
  
"Not really an option, Cordy. It's hard to talk to people who don't even realize you're there. These days not even Tara can see me anymore."  
  
"Dawn, I'm so sorry."  
  
"Not your fault. I figured out what was happening to me a long time ago. Did some research and all. I can still turn pages, you know? Material as ever, can't walk through walls or anything. It's just people. They don't see me, don't acknowledge me, and if I get fed up and slug them they just get confused."  
  
"It's because Buffy died, isn't it?"  
  
"Got it in one. Those stupid monks made me out of my sister. Still don't know how exactly they pulled that stunt, but ... well, it seems that without the original around the copy is fading."  
  
"You're not a copy, Dawn."  
  
"No? Then what am I, Cordy? I'm certainly not a human being. Humans don't just fade away into nothingness when their sisters die."  
  
Silence.  
  
"Sorry, I didn't come here to mope about the general suckiness of my existence. You haven't exactly got it easy, either. How come you're naked all the time anyway?"  
  
"It's complicated."  
  
"I got time."  
  
"Well, it's ... whenever I get a vision I'm just swamped with sensations, you know? It's not just pictures and sounds, it's everything. Complete five- sense surround. And now that I'm getting them almost constantly I'm sort of hyper-sensitized. I can barely tolerate the feel of this mask on my face. Or the feeling of the carpet beneath my feet."  
  
"Wow! That sucks!"  
  
"It certainly does."  
  
"You could ask Tara to get you a levitation spell or something. That way at least your feet wouldn't touch the carpet anymore."  
  
"Hey, that isn't such a bad idea."  
  
Silence.  
  
"So you ... you're like getting these visions 24/7 now?"  
  
"Pretty much, yes. There is a lull sometimes. And most of the time I just see a lot of stuff I can't make heads or tails of. People I never met, places I never saw, nothing big happening. At other times it hits me like a sledgehammer and shows me thing I really did not need to see."  
  
"Did you see ... I mean ... was I in any of those visions?"  
  
"I think you were. I'm afraid I did not recognize your face then. Sorry about that."  
  
"Not your fault. What did you see?"  
  
"I think it was something from your past."  
  
"Which past? The real one or the fabricated one?"  
  
"The real one, I believe. It sort of went backwards. I saw monks involved in some kind of ritual and then, poof, there you were, stepping right out of a green swirl of energy."  
  
"I don't remember that."  
  
"I don't think you are supposed to. Anyway, then I saw something else. That same green swirl of energy ..."  
  
"Me, you mean."  
  
"Well, yes, I guess. I saw you and a woman that I believe was the uber- bitch that used you to bring about hell on Earth or whatever."  
  
"Glory? You saw Glory?"  
  
"There was a world there. A world filled with fire and destruction. I saw her sitting on a throne, a throne made from flesh and dead bodies. She sat on the ashes of her world and ... and she had that green ... you ... in her hand. Like ... like a scepter or something."  
  
"Was ... was that her own world? Or what she planned to do to ours?"  
  
"Both, I think."  
  
"Glory told me that ... that I was evil. Or not, depending on the point of view. I was never really sure what she meant."  
  
"I think you are ... power, Dawnie. The key to a whole lot of power. That was why she wanted you back so badly. Without you she couldn't be the god she fancied herself to be."  
  
"Yeah, right! A really cool power I have. The power to bring down the dimensional walls and plunge all of creation into hell, but only once at a very specific time and in a very specific place. Apocalyptic one-shot, that's me."  
  
"I don't ... ah!"  
  
"Cordy, are you all right?"  
  
"Y-yes. It's the visions. Some are stronger than others. God, they're really getting worse. How am I supposed to puzzle all of this out if you keep sending me migraines, you stupid Powers?"  
  
"Should I get ... well, I can't really get someone, but I could push someone in your direction and hope they get a clue or something."  
  
"No, it's okay. Well, not okay, but there isn't really anything anyone can do, you know? Aspirin hasn't helped in a long time. Besides, Fred should be back soon. They don't leave me alone for long. Never know when I might sprout some useful insight. I think this one is for you, though. I just saw Glory again."  
  
"Oh! She ... she's still dead, right?"  
  
"Yes, she died when Giles killed her human host. I saw her from before that. When she was in Sunnydale and looking for you. God, that bitch was really completely insane, wasn't she?"  
  
"Well, I remember Giles saying something about how her being stuck in a human body was driving her nuts. That was why she drained all these people of their brains."  
  
"It didn't help much, let me tell you that. At the end there she really thought that she wanted to use you to get back home."  
  
"Uh ... Cordy, that was what she wanted to use me for."  
  
"No, it wasn't."  
  
"It wasn't?"  
  
"No! Her home was destroyed, I saw it happen. She saw it, too, that was what drove her nuts to begin with. Seeing the world she ruled like a god go pop really knocked her for a loop. It only got worse when she got stuck in a human body. She went completely bonkers, the only thing she had straight was that she wanted you back."  
  
"But ... if she couldn't go back home, I mean ... what was that then? What happened on the day that ... that Buffy ...?"  
  
"Glory wanted to return home, Dawn, but since her home no longer existed she wanted to use your power to turn this world, our world, into her new home."  
  
"My ... my power? Cordy, you're not making any sense. What power am I supposed to have? How could cracking the dimensional walls turn our world into a hell dimension?"  
  
"I'm not sure. I don't think it's power you have, Dawn, as much as power you can provide access to. You're a key, remember? A key to an awful lot of power. Enough to change an entire world according to Glory's design."  
  
Silence.  
  
"Why do you think are they showing you this, Cordy?"  
  
"If I knew that my life would be a whole lot easier. Lately I think ... I think the Powers are trying to show me the whole pattern of things, you know? I've seen a lot of events some members of our group were involved in and somehow they never went down exactly as we thought they did at the time. We never saw behind the curtains, if you know what I mean. I see the past of people and sometimes their futures. Something really, really big is about to go down and I believe the Powers want us to understand the big picture. It's just ... there is too much of it, so many pieces of a puzzle and we haven't got a clue what the picture will be in the end. Am I making sense here?"  
  
"Somewhat, yeah! What has Glory got to do with any kind of big picture, though? She's dead and gone and she came from somewhere else anyway, so what could she have to do with the latest version of the apocalypse?"  
  
"I don't think it's about Glory, Dawn. I believe it's about you. What you were and ... well, what you might yet become?"  
  
"Become? Cordelia, the only thing I'm becoming is nothing, okay?"  
  
"Not nothing, Dawn. Even if you're correct, even if you fade away completely, there will be something left. Something that wasn't made out of Buffy."  
  
"What are you ...? Oh, I get it. The Key. You think I will turn back into a green swirl of energy? Just great!"  
  
"There might be more to it. I ... these last few weeks I've been seeing one picture over and over again. A giant torch of some kind, standing in a dark hallway that feels like it's deep beneath the Earth somewhere. I have no clue what it is, but I know it's important and that's why they are showing it to me over and over again."  
  
"What's a giant underground torch got to do with me?"  
  
"Something. I don't know what, really, but there is a connection there. It's like ... I hear your voice and I see your face, at least in my mind I do, and at the same time I see the picture of that giant torch."  
  
"Doesn't exactly tell me much, Cordy."  
  
"After living with obscure visions for the better part of eighteen years, Dawn, you get used to things not making immediate sense. But one thing I know, you still play a role in the big picture. Not sure what role, but you're still in it. You're not fading away."  
  
"Oh really? Try and repeat that two minutes after I've left this room. You won't even remember me having been here."  
  
"Dawn, please ... Dawn? Are you still here? Dawn?"  
  
"Cordelia? Are you talking to someone?"  
  
"Fred? Yes, I was ... I think ... where have you been?"  
  
"Just stepped out to check out the newcomers down below. Apparently we got another mystery on our hand."  
  
"Great, something we really needed around here. Another mystery."  
  
"Did you have more visions? Is that why you were talking to yourself?"  
  
"Was I? I ... I don't remember. Well, can't have been that important, I guess."  
  
TO BE CONTINUED 


	9. The Impossible Child

The Angel's Knight #9 - The Impossible Child  
  
#  
  
San Francisco, October 14, 2017  
  
#  
  
I watch as the sun comes up over the bay, golden light slowly making its way across the shimmering surface of the water. The first rays touch my face, warm my skin, and I am once again at a loss to explain how this is possible. How I can possibly be standing here like this without dying on the spot.  
  
Impossible. It has become one of my favorite words these last few years, or at least one of my most frequently used. So many impossible things have happened to me that I think I need to find a new word to describe them. Are things still impossible when they actually happen? When every law of man and God says they can't possible happen, but they still do? Repeatedly?  
  
Sixteen years ago I knew exactly who I was, what I was, and what I was going to do. I had clarity of purpose like never before or after. The people who had used me like a puppet were going to pay and pay dearly. The man whom I loved was going to come back to me and together we would drown the world in blood, send the mortals run screaming in terror. It all seemed so simple and straightforward.  
  
Only nothing happened like it was supposed to. My shot at revenge misfired and I escaped with my life only due to the foolish love of a foolish mortal. The night that was to bring me back my beautiful immortal lover brought me something else altogether. Something that called into question everything that I thought I knew. Everything that I thought I was.  
  
Back then I believed ... no, I knew ... that I was Darla, first and favored child of the Master, one of the most powerful vampires that ever existed. Not even final death could stop me. I was reborn - naked and scared inside a wooden box, but reborn nevertheless - and came into power once more.  
  
Now I don't know who I am anymore. Am I Darla? If I am, then how can I be standing here? How is it possible that a 400-year-old vampire can stand in the morning sunlight, overlooking the San Francisco bay, and not burst into flames? I have walked in the light of day for sixteen years now and I still don't know how it is possible.  
  
I am not human. That much I know. I was for a short time, but then Drusilla came and made me what I am now, whatever it is. I don't age, I don't need to breathe, I am stronger than any mere human, and if I want my face can change, transform into what I once believed was my true visage. All that says I am a vampire. Yet here I am, standing in the sunlight, not bursting into flames.  
  
Sixteen years and I am no closer to an answer than I was that long ago day when I realized what my one night with Angel had left me with.  
  
"Mom?"  
  
Footsteps approach from behind me, heading out from the porch of the house I bought, quickly coming closer. I close my eyes, not for the first time thinking that I might be dreaming all this. Vampires dream, too, though seldom of things like this. We dream of blood and slaughter, of suffering and the sweet taste of mortal blood. If this is a dream then it is of a kind I never thought I would have.  
  
The same goes for the feelings flaring up in my chest as the source of the footsteps arrives at my side. A warm hand touches my shoulder, sending a tingling down my spine. If I were a vampire then I would not be feeling this way, would I?  
  
Sixteen years ago I, a vampire, slept with another vampire in the hope of giving him a moment of perfect happiness. That particular hope did not come true and something else happened instead. Something that resulted in the fifteen-year-old girl standing next to me right now, hair as blonde as my own, eyes the dark chocolate brown of her father.  
  
"Is everything okay, mom?" she asks me and I can feel my heart clench. Emotions I should not have, things I should not feel. I do, though, and there is nothing I can do about it. God knows I tried. This girl is my daughter, however impossible that is, and I love her. I love her so much that it scares me to death and I know I would kill anyone who dared to harm a single hair on her head.  
  
I don't have a soul. I know I don't have a soul. I felt it fly away when Drusilla's tainted blood entered my throat, when I died and became a monster again, right in front of the man who wanted to give his life for mine. Yet somehow that does not change the feelings in my unbeating heart.  
  
"I'm fine, Celeste," I lie to her. I always lie to her when she asks me this question and I think she knows that I do. When she looks at me with her father's eyes I just know that she can see right through me. Celeste is not like other children. How could she be? The very fact that she exists is impossible, yet here she is.  
  
Celeste is human. It was one of the first things I checked when I realized that I was pregnant with her. I couldn't go to a normal doctor, of course. Any doctor worth the name could not have helped but notice that the mother was missing a few vital things, such as a heartbeat. I found a few people with the necessary qualification that don't ask questions, made them do my bidding through money and fear. They told me she was human. Not a little vampire, not some kind of demonic hybrid, but human.  
  
I look at her now and I can see the slow rise and fall of her chest beneath the sweater she wears. I can see her pulse beating beneath the skin at her throat. She should be enticing to me. Young, innocent, full of sweet blood. Yet the very thought of sinking my fangs into her flesh fills me with nothing but self-loathing and revulsion. She is my daughter. How can I even contemplate harming her? How can I not, given that I am a vampire?  
  
Sixteen years and I don't have so much as a single answer to my many questions.  
  
"We have to go soon," Celeste says, now also looking out across the bay.  
  
"Go where?"  
  
I like it here. A house with a nice view, far away from any other place I ever spent time in, nothing to remind me of the creature that I was, or thought I was. I haven't killed since Celeste was born, neither for pleasure nor for food. That's another thing that should be impossible. I don't drink blood anymore. Not because I no longer crave it, certainly not. But just like with the killing I can't help but think what Celeste would say if she saw me do it. I imagine the look in my daughter's eyes and it's ten times stronger than any trace of conscience could ever be.  
  
So I am a vampire that walks in the sunlight, does not drink blood, yet somehow survives. Survives and loves the impossible child she can't possibly have carried to term, yet somehow did.  
  
We have lived here in San Francisco for the last twelve years. She is going to school here, has friends, a life. I even have a job, something I never thought I would need or want. I have to provide for my child, though. It's the only thing in the world I'm still certain about. Celeste is my child and I have to take care of her.  
  
"It's almost time," Celeste says. "We have to go and see my father."  
  
What? Her father? Celeste doesn't know about her father. I never said a word about him and she never asked. If she had I would have told her that he was dead (which is the truth, more or less) and left it at that. I might have told her that we enjoyed our time together (which we did) and how he changed then, changed into a person that no longer wanted to be with me.  
  
I look into her eyes again and I know that she knows. On some days I think that she knows everything. I never told her about myself, either. Never tried to explain to her why I haven't gotten so much as a single wrinkle or any gray hairs. She never asked, not once. Yet she knows. Somehow she knows. And she knows about her father.  
  
She smiles at me and that smile alone is enough to make all my questions unimportant. When she smiles at me like this I don't care how it is possible that she exists, that I could give birth to her. I only care that she is here, that she is my daughter, and that is enough.  
  
Or it would be if she hadn't just mentioned her father.  
  
"I wish I could tell you everything you want to know, mom," she says, still smiling. "I promise you will learn the truth soon. The truth about me, about what you are, about what happened between you and dad."  
  
My brain is completely blank upon hearing her words. She takes my hand in hers.  
  
"I love you, mom. I've only just begun to understand everything that is going to happen and sometimes I wish I didn't. If it was up to me we would just stay here and not get involved in all this. There are things I have to do, though, things only I can do. But I need your help, mom. I need you to take me to dad."  
  
I stare at her for a long time, trying to make sense of everything she just told me. What is going to happen? What is she to do? I always knew that she had to be destined for something. Vampires don't get pregnant and start walking in the sunlight by accident. She is here for a reason. Somehow I hoped that it would never catch up with her. With us. I hoped we could continue like this, live the lie that we are a normal family. It's not something I ever thought I wanted, but having it now, with her, it means more to me than anything else ever did or could.  
  
No such luck. Destiny always catches up with you.  
  
"D-do we have to go immediately?" Is that my voice? Since when do I sound so afraid?  
  
"Not immediately," she assures me.  
  
"Good. Good."  
  
She tilts her head to one side, still looking at me with those oh so familiar eyes.  
  
"Are you still afraid of dad?"  
  
"Afraid? Why ... why should I be afraid of your dad, honey?"  
  
She knows. I can see that in her face. She knows everything. But how? And how am I supposed to handle the fact that my daughter knows how her father and I tried to kill each other more than once? Does she know I ran him through with a sword? Does she know he set me on fire? Does she know what we did before he got his soul back? What we were like together? The kind of havoc we created for nearly 150 years? God, please! Don't let her have learned that! Anything but that.  
  
"He won't hurt you, mom," she tells me. "And even if he wanted to, he can't. You are not what you think, mom, and neither is he."  
  
"I don't understand."  
  
"I know. I'm sorry I can't explain everything to you right now. There is still a lot I don't understand, either, but I know things will get clearer once we find dad."  
  
Angel. She wants to go and visit Angel. The same man who, during our last meeting, told me that the next time he saw me he would kill me. It was not an empty threat, I could see that in his eyes, those same eyes that are looking at me right now. He did it once before. Rammed a crossbow bolt into my back and all for a stupid girl that didn't have the slightest clue who he was, what he was. He killed me and I realize I'm deathly afraid he'll do it again.  
  
Who will take care of Celeste when I'm gone?  
  
Celeste moves forward to hug me and I feel tears roll down my face. Vampires don't cry, do they? Vampires don't cry while they're looking at the sunrise and are being hugged by their daughters. What have I become?  
  
"Everything will be okay, mom! You'll see! Everything will turn out just fine."  
  
Somehow these words don't carry the same absolute certainty as everything else she told me today.  
  
TO BE CONTINUED 


	10. About the Setting of Priorities

The Angel's Knight #10 - About the Setting of Priorities  
  
#  
  
New England, October 14, 2017  
  
#  
  
I put the phone back into my pocket, not for the first time wondering how it is that important events always seem to happen all at once. Of course something would come up back in Los Angeles the moment I leave the town for the other side of the continent.  
  
Diana Knight, a new Slayer, or so Faith says. Diana, the same name Cordelia mentioned during one of her visions. Neither Wesley nor Faith knew about that, of course, seeing as it was only last night. Well, seeing as Cordelia predicted little more than the girl arriving and being of some importance to us I guess I can be excused for not entering that information into the database before I got called away.  
  
This throws up a lot of questions, of course. How can a new Slayer have been called when Faith is still alive and well? This has happened before, as I well know, but at that time we figured out the reasons rather quickly. This time, though? Somehow I have a feeling that it might prove to be a lot more complicated than drowning and CPR.  
  
Remembering this inevitably leads my thoughts down worn and familiar paths, paths I don't have the time to wander right now. Or ever, really.  
  
"Another piece of the puzzle?"  
  
The woman posing that question is named Maryke and she is the leader of one of the most powerful covens in the known world. We have worked quite closely with them for some time now, have done so ever since Giles brought them to America after the incident with Willow. There are too many people playing around with powerful black magic and we needed a counterweight.  
  
They have also proven quite adept at helping us figure out various prophecies we have on record, which is why I am here today.  
  
"Cordelia predicted the arrival of a girl called Diana," I tell Maryke. "Apparently she just turned up back in Los Angeles."  
  
"Will you have to leave immediately?"  
  
"No, I believe Wesley and the others can handle it."  
  
She nods and motions for me to sit down. It is hard for me to feel at ease in this place. The coven occupies a large mansion near the ocean and is warded in numerous ways to prevent dark forces from entering here. Things like me you might say. The witches have to lower their defenses quite a bit whenever I come for a visit. One of the reasons why we do most of our meetings via phone and webcam these days.  
  
The largest room in the mansion, safely shielded from daylight for my benefit, holds little more than a large pentagram painted onto the floor. Maryke and half a dozen other members of the coven are sitting around it, most of them have their eyes closed and are chanting under their breaths. The air is heavy with magic. White magic, which sends yet more shivers of unease down my spine.  
  
"We have spent much time pondering the information provided by your seer," Maryke begins, moving her hands in a strange pattern as images begin to take shape above the pentagram. "Our own psychics are nowhere near as connected as she is, of course, but they have been able to add some details here and there."  
  
"Enough to form a picture?"  
  
"An outline maybe."  
  
She directs my gaze towards the visions hovering in the air. It shows a picture that is quite familiar by now, though I have never seen it with my own eyes. A giant torch burning in what looks like an underground cavern.  
  
"This seems to be the preeminent image in Cordelia's vision. From what we have managed to sense from her psychic readings we believe that this, for lack of a better word, is the prize in the upcoming battle."  
  
"The prize?"  
  
"Power, Angel. Quite a bit of it. Our strongest seekers have tried to locate this artifact by using the impressions garnered from Cordelia. They haven't been able to find it, but there is one thing they all agree upon. Whatever this torch is or represents, it is extremely powerful. A prize the likes of which many people would gladly kill for."  
  
She closes her eyes and the images change, showing me brief flashes of things that I have heard Cordelia talk about. Glimpses from the lives of our friends, as well as those we can safely count among our enemies. Giles, Willow, Master Nest, Glory, Doyle, Faith, the demon Akathler, Jenny Calendar, Darla, Holland Manners, Kendra. Many others that I do not recognize.  
  
And Buffy. I try not to think of her too much, yet these visions seem to have a different opinion about that.  
  
"Cordelia sees glimpses of all these people," Maryke explains, "many of whom are no longer among the living, yet seem to be important nevertheless. It took us a lot of time to find any kind of common theme to all these visions of lives past, Angel, but I believe we have found it at last."  
  
If they have actually managed to make sense of it all than they accomplished a lot more than Wesley, Fred, and the people we have working on this in Los Angeles have managed. Somehow I am quite certain that I won't like the answers. Prophecies or visions, they never mean anything good.  
  
"They all show inconsistencies, Angel. Things that, upon first glance, do not make sense."  
  
I look at the images she is showing me. I see Master Nest rise from the ground, liberated by Buffy's death, only to find defeat at her hands and somehow his death closes the opening Hellmouth. No reason why it should, yet it does.  
  
I see men in suits that can only be employees of Wolfram & Hart (I know their looks by now) and they are opening a wooden box that I recognize as the artifact that brought Darla back. How can a dead vampire be brought back as a living human with nothing but the empty life forces of yet more vampires to make it happen? Somehow it worked.  
  
I see myself, running through a corridor and barreling through a door just in time to save the life of a friend. Kate Lockley, dying from an overdose of sleeping pills, and I manage to bring her back from the edge. It is she who realizes that I entered her apartment without ever having been invited. A vampire can't do that, yet somehow I did.  
  
A group of scientists is assembling a patchwork creature, made from demon and human parts, held together by technology and magic. Something like this can not possibly be alive in any true sense of the word, yet somehow it rises and slays its own creators like something directly from the Frankenstein myth.  
  
There are other images, things that people in our line of business have seen a thousand times, yet never spent a second thought on. A vampire gets stacked and for some reason it's not just his body that turns into dust, but his clothing as well. I see countless books filled with prophecies, somehow always turning up mere days before said prophecies come to pass. I see dozens of demons, every single one of them powerful enough to bring about the end of the world, but somehow they only turn up at a place or a time when someone is there to stop them, never in some remote part of the desert with no way for anyone to reach them in time.  
  
None of it makes any sense at first glance.  
  
"The world we move in is filled with impossible things, Angel," Maryke says, "yet we have learned to just regard them as fact and move on. I believe the visions are meant to change that, to teach us to look beneath the facade. To grasp the bigger picture behind it all."  
  
I nod. It does sound logical. It does not bring us that much closer to seeing that big picture, though.  
  
"Anything else?"  
  
"Cordelia's visions seem to guide different people towards different goals. When you are with her, for example, she often sees images of Darla."  
  
Darla. I had hoped that she was a chapter of my life I could finally close. Well, I thought that once before and it did not quite work out that way. She came back and almost succeeded in tearing me down, making me into what I once was. It did not happen and I like to think I am stronger for that experience. When she left me that night I hoped she would heed my warning and never return. Sixteen years and counting, she never came looking for me again.  
  
Do I have to go out and look for her now?  
  
"Have you been able to make anything out of that girl that always appears together with Darla?"  
  
The images above the pentagram change, showing me the girl in question. A teenager, long blonde hair, a strangely subdued look in her eyes. There is something incredibly familiar about her, something about her eyes, but I can't place it.  
  
"She is connected to Darla, that much is certain. In what way, though we can not say. There is a strong sense of conjunction. We expect you to meet her very soon."  
  
I shake my head. This is not what I wanted to hear.  
  
"There are more important things for me to handle. Have you discovered anything else?"  
  
Maryke gives me the kind of look I often seem to get from people who are close to me, yet to not really know me. Which is most people around me, actually. I don't let them get close. It's safer that way, both for them and for myself. People I allow close, people I allow myself to care for, they always die or worse. Doyle. Darla when she was human. Cordelia. And ... so many other people.  
  
This look they give me says that they wish they could help me somehow. Help me let go of the guilt. They just don't know how. They don't understand me and how could they?  
  
I think there was only ever one person who really understood and she ... she isn't here anymore. Hasn't been for a long time.  
  
"Cordelia's visions," Maryke finally continues, "as well as some of the things our own seers have glimpsed, seem to indicate a widespread movement among the world's supernatural population."  
  
"Demons?"  
  
"Not just demons. Mages, half-breeds, weres, neutral creatures, everyone who is in some way connected to the mystic is drawn to a certain place."  
  
"What place?"  
  
"We are not certain yet. The only thing we can tell for sure is that it seems to be here in America. Quite a few people we tend to keep an eye on have or are in the process of coming here. Vampire and demonic activity in Europe is in sharp decline, while the opposite is true for America."  
  
A gathering of forces then. Not only of the demonic side, though. If supernatural creatures are drawn to a certain spot for some reason, shouldn't I be feeling it as well. Shouldn't Maryke and her friends? Unless we are already where we are meant to be.  
  
We still know much too little. Even with all these puzzle pieces we know too little.  
  
"We will put all our people on full alert. If the need arises we can have the Initiative ready for action within 24 hours. Oz hopefully has convinced his people to join us as well. If there is to be a battle we will be ready."  
  
I look at Maryke again.  
  
"It would be good if you could come with us as well. We could use your help with more than the visions."  
  
We have talked about this several times before. The coven members are not warriors, I know that. They have aided us in the past by lending their magical strength to both Giles and Tara, making them stronger than they would be on their own, but none of them have ever been in the field themselves. This time, though, I have a feeling we're going to need all the help we can get.  
  
"There is something else, Angel," Maryke says, rising from her position. The visions in the pentagram fade and the other witches rise as well, making a quiet retreat.  
  
"What is it?"  
  
"There was something else in one of Cordelia's visions, one I believe you have no knowledge of as of yet. Something that does concern you, however. On a very personal level."  
  
What is she talking about? I know about all of Cordelia's visions. Checking the logs compiled by whoever sits with her is always the first thing I do after waking up.  
  
"Mr. Giles did not put it in the logs," Maryke answers my question before I can even pose it, "because he felt it was something we should try and verify it first before it could be told to anyone else. Especially you, Angel. We haven't exactly managed to do that, but I believe it is time for you to be told regardless."  
  
She hesitates for a moment, looking a bit uncertain.  
  
"Maryke, what is this about?"  
  
"Mr. Giles, he ... he once told me of ... of Buffy."  
  
I wait for her to continue, not sure what I am to say right now.  
  
"He told me of her, what she was to you. Only a bare outline, no details, but ... apparently Cordelia saw her in one of her visions."  
  
"What?" Why would the visions show Buffy? She ... she died sixteen years ago. She isn't here anymore. She is safe, I know that. If any human being ever deserved to go to Heaven it was here and she is safe there. She has to be.  
  
"All the puzzle pieces suggest that there will be some kind of final conflict happening, Angel. Something very big, something that might shape the future of this world for all time. And ... according to the vision ... Buffy will be there. She will be involved in the battle."  
  
No! No, this can't be. Buffy is dead. I saw her body, I was at her funeral. I know what Willow did to her and I personally made sure that it could never happen again. A team and I went into Sunnydale and we took her remains with us during the evacuation. No one can possibly raise her again, no one can defile her like this again. She is safe.  
  
"Angel!" Maryke's hand is on my cheek and my eyes snap back into focus, showing me her worried face.  
  
"You must be wrong," I tell her. She has to be. "Buffy is dead."  
  
"Cordelia saw her, Angel," Maryke repeats. Why is she saying this? "And ..."  
  
Her voice trails off and I am quite sure I do not want to know what else she has to say. Yet somehow my mouth moves without conscious effort and I hear myself asking her what else Cordelia saw.  
  
"She will be fighting in the final battle, Angel," Maryke whispers, her voice barely audible. "And she will be fighting against you."  
  
TO BE CONTINUED 


	11. Which Witch?

The Angel's Knight #11 - Which Witch?  
  
#  
  
110 miles north of Los Angeles, October 14, 2017  
  
#  
  
The dust storm is really having a jolly good time here, reducing visibility to near zero. This is a bit like I imagined things to look after a nuclear holocaust. Everything leveled, dust in the air, no trace of sunlight to be seen even though it's day outside the city limit. No radiation, thankfully, but quite a few critters around, which is sort of worse. At least you don't feel the radiation while it liquefies your insides. Zombies eating you, though ...  
  
Okay, Xander! Stay calm! The suit seems to be working fine. You walked past about a dozen zombies so far and they just kept on rotting away, not sparing so much as a decomposed eyeball for your sorry hide. Face mask and goggles keep out the sand and the scanners actually give me a field of vision to work with, so no stumbling around in the dust, either. The black robe I acquired from one of the strange guys running around allows me to blend in with the other tourists.  
  
Still, I'd rather be anywhere but here.  
  
We always knew the perimeter scanners wouldn't be able to catch everyone and everything going in and out of Sunnydale. There is simply too much happening underground here, endless miles of caves and sewer system, not to mention the occasional mystical gateway and such. Still, judging by what I've seen so far, our worst estimates have been too conservative by far. Sunnydale is packed.  
  
The smart thing to do would be to turn around and radio for assistance. Something has to be going on here. Large groups of vampires and other demons are prowling the streets. I've seen at least a hundred of these robed guys, probably more. The one I knocked out to get his clothes was human, I'm pretty sure about that one. I brought him back to my car and locked him in the trunk. No sense in leaving him out as food for the vamps or zombies.  
  
Yeah, the smart thing would be to turn around and call for the big guns. I'm not sure why I'm not doing that right now. This is something for Angel and Faith to handle, preferably accompanied by a large backup troop and maybe some of Riley's Initiative guys thrown in for good measure. Instead it's just me, Xander Harris, the dumb ass that keeps walking towards the remains of the only building I was ever tempted to perform arson on. Okay, one of two buildings, actually. My parents' house was in the running, too, but there is no question who was in the lead in that particular race.  
  
The old Sunnydale High School.  
  
There isn't much left of it. Our little graduation ceremony all these years ago reduced it to rubble, generously sprinkled with Mayor meat, well done. During my last year in Sunnydale they actually began rebuilding it, but the Hellmouth's little digestion problem tore down whatever they managed to get done. A few walls are still standing, some skeletal remains of superstructure, that's it. This would be the perfect set for some kind of horror music video.  
  
Even without the certain knowledge that whatever bad is going down here could not be in any other place but the Hellmouth I could not possibly miss the fact that this is party central. The zombies don't go near the place, mostly because they don't move unless they spot fresh meat, but everything else is pretty much hanging around here. Which is kind of strange. You'd think all the vampires and other assorted demons would help themselves to some yummy treats with this many humans around, black robes or no black robes. Maybe it's like one of those buffet things where no one has told people it's okay to start eating and no one wants to be the first to stand up. Yeah, right! Vampires are such a shy and reserved lot.  
  
Well, whatever it is that keeps them off the black robed guy diet, it appears to be working for me as well. I realize my hand is clenched around the grip of my Heckler & Koch and I force myself to relax. If I have to start shooting here I'm dead. Phosphorous ammunition might take a few of the bloodsuckers out in the process, but that does not really make suicide an attractive option. Just keep cool, Xander! Just keep cool! A little breathing would probably help, too.  
  
For some reason the dust grows lighter once I get closer to the ruin, but at the same time the electronics in my goggles decide to go fuzzy on me. Some kind of electromagnetic pulse effect? I do know that technology and magic don't work well together under most circumstances and sometimes, if you've got enough magic around, technology stops working entirely. The scanner array we have around the town is strong enough to count grains of sand on the moon, yet it gives up after a mile or so when it comes to Sunnydale.  
  
Thankfully I know quite a few good witches and one of them provided me with a little gadget that might come in handy right now. Basically it's the magical equivalent of a Geiger counter, a crystal that glows according to the amount of mystical energy in the air. The last time Angel and the guys were here the crystals they took with them barely worked up a glow, or so they told me.  
  
I reach into my pocket, careful to keep the crystal concealed in the folds of the black robe, and somehow I'm not surprised to see it glowing brightly.  
  
Okay, this is a really bad time to panic, Xander! So there are about a hundred times as many critters around as you expected. So the Hellmouth is pouring out mojo in a big way after being dormant for the last fifteen years. So what? No one has started eating you yet, old boy! You're just going to go in, take a good long look, then head back out and call in the big guns. No sweat. Okay, lots of sweat, but you know what I mean. Easy as pie.  
  
At the edge of the ruins the dust clears up even further and I can see several well-worn paths leading into the rubble. These guys have been here a while, it seems. I can also hear some kind of noise coming from deeper inside. Something like . chanting? Chanting is never good. Chanting means rituals and rituals usually mean apocalyptic things are going to happen. I sort of hoped that the time when we had at least one potential apocalypse each year were gone. No reason to start that trend again, people! It wasn't that great to begin with.  
  
There is some kind of big clearing in the center of the ruins. Someone went to a lot of trouble moving all the rubble away. The air is almost clear in here, though one can see the dust storm hovering only a few meters overhead, cutting off the skies. We once managed to get a spy satellite trained on this place via Riley's military contacts, but all it showed us was a gray blob. Nothing managed to penetrate past that curtain.  
  
There is something standing right in the center, but there are too many robed guys standing around it for me to get a clear look. Something golden, that much is for sure. For some reason I'm reminded of that old movie with Charlton Heston. You know the one, right? Where the Israelites all dance around that big golden calve and then Heston comes down the mountain where he talked with God, looking incredibly pissed at them. I must have seen that movie a dozen times.  
  
I try to discreetly elbow my way through the assembled crowd while trying not to freak out due to the chanting when I bump into someone. Someone who turns to look at me. Someone with a really familiar looking face.  
  
"Watch it," the black-robed woman says.  
  
Her name slips past my lips before I can prevent it. "Amy?"  
  
She gives me a look that is half surprise and half fear. I'd go out on a limb and say that she is not on the official invitee list, either. I quickly pull down the hood of the robe, just enough for her to get a look at my face. A second later I remember to remove the dust mask as well. Amazing how you can forgot you're wearing a full-faced mask when you're scared out of your wits.  
  
"Xander?" she hisses under her breath. "What the hell are you doing here?"  
  
There is a really menacing sparkle in her eyes and my brain catches up with my actions, asking me whether I really think it was a bright idea to reveal myself to her. I once considered Amy something of a friend, but that was years ago. I know she and Willow did some magical stuff together after Tara left town during that last year in Sunnydale, right after Willow transformed her back into a human being after three years spent as a rat. That was actually the last time I saw her. Maybe this really wasn't that bright an idea.  
  
"I could ask you the same question," I answer evasively. "Didn't figure you for the black robe crowd."  
  
"At least I have the magical credentials to be here. Last I knew you weren't a practitioner of the dark arts."  
  
"Nah, I just came by for the free food and drinks." Maybe cracking some jokes will distract me from that sense of impending doom that keeps tying my stomach into knots.  
  
She looks at me intently for another few seconds, then seems to come to a decision. I find my hand has wandered back to the grip of the gun at my hip and this time I'm not forcing it back from there.  
  
"I heard rumors that a large group of black mages was coming to Sunnydale," Amy whispers, turning so an onlooker won't see us talking to each other. "Apparently this place has turned into something of a holy place for quite a few covens that deal with the darker side of magic. Some people kept talking about a great magical leader set to emerge from here. I wanted to check out what all the fuzz was about."  
  
My brain is still three steps behind me, but my gut says she is not telling me everything. Well, can't really blame her, can I? We haven't seen each other in fifteen years only to meet again in the middle of a large crowd of vampires, demons, and black robe guys, the latter of whom probably being those black mages she mentioned. Talk about prime spots for a high school reunion.  
  
"What about you?" she asks, standing on tiptoe to try and see something over the heads of the crowd.  
  
"Dreams," I answer. "Lots of strange and scary dreams, all telling me to come back here."  
  
"You wouldn't have anything to do with the people who put up those scanners outside the city limit, would you?"  
  
The ones you obviously managed to sneak past, you mean? We've got to talk to Maryke and her people about strengthening those runes.  
  
"You wouldn't happen to be one of those black mages you were just talking about, would you?" I ask her instead of an answer.  
  
She gives me a brief look, but quickly turns her head back to the front. None of the other people here appear to be very chatty. No sense in sticking out.  
  
"As a matter of fact I was."  
  
"What?"  
  
"One of those black mages, Xander. I guess I ... well, my favorite explanation is that three years as a rat unhinged me a bit. I did a lot of stuff I'm not proud of. There was this mage called Rack and ... well, it's a long story. Bottom line is I'm back to myself again."  
  
Is this already a pattern? Two high school friends of mine turned to the dark side of the force, I'm married to a former vengeance demon, my first time was with a Slayer who joined the bad guys for a while, and Cordelia ... well, she's Cordelia. Yep, I'm sensing a pattern here. I always knew the universe, especially the female half of it, was out to get me.  
  
"That still does not explain why you're here. If you're off the black magic stuff, then why ...?"  
  
Another thing I always knew was that the universe, apart from being out to get me, has an overdeveloped sense of the dramatic. As if on cue the crowd in front of us thins enough for both of us to see past the many bodies, catching our first good look at the thing we're all standing around.  
  
It's a golden statue. Not a calve, no, but a woman. A woman in a cheerleader uniform with a pompom in each hand. A life-sized golden cheerleader statue. Okay, add a sense of the bizarre to that sense of drama. Here you've got a crowd of vampires, demons, and black mages chanting before a life-sized golden cheerleader statue.  
  
Only in Sunnydale.  
  
"That's why," Amy says, wrenching me out of my thoughts.  
  
"You came here because of a cheerleader statue?" I know I'm missing something here. I just wish someone would tell me what it is. At the same time I realize that there is something draped across the statue. I'm too far away to see what it is. Gives me the creeps, though.  
  
"You never met my mother, did you?" Amy asks. "That's her."  
  
That is ... God, yes, I remember. Catherine the Great. Most famous cheerleader Sunnydale ever produced. Also a massively powerful witch. I guess we can be thankful that the worst she ever wanted to do with her powers was to relive her glory days. Okay, Amy might dispute the thankful part, seeing as Catherine stole her body in order to do that.  
  
"Why did they make a life-size statue of her?" I'm not saying I understand how black mages think, but it seems to me there are better idols of evil you could make statues of around than a witch who cursed people so she could become a cheerleader again.  
  
"It's the trophy," Amy explains, her eyes riveted to the statue. "The one that was in the display case in the school corridor. I've looked at it a thousand times. And no, I have no idea why it has grown this large, so don't ask me."  
  
Just when you think this couldn't get any weirder. So these guys have not fashioned a statue of a cheerleader to worship or whatever it is they are doing here. No, somehow a ten inch trophy grew to a height of six feet and that's what they're worshipping.  
  
There is some movement in the crowd and we manage to inch closer. I still can't make out exactly what that thing is they've draped across the statue. It looks ... gross, somehow. What is that?  
  
"You think they're worshipping your mother?" I ask Amy, trying to make sense of it all.  
  
"I'm not sure. I just ... we never did find out what happened to her. When she vanished all these years ago she did some kind of spell, one that was to send me to a place where I would never make trouble again. Only it backfired on her and she was gone. Now, call me crazy, but maybe ..."  
  
I don't hear whatever she thinks I might call her crazy for, because suddenly my brain catches up again and I realize what it is they've got draped across that statue. For a long second I can't make heads or tails of it, the picture my eyes see not being put together correctly inside my head. Or maybe some part of my brain is smart enough to try and prevent me from realizing what that is. Only the smart part gets beaten over the head and it all clicks together.  
  
It's a body. A mangled, withered body. It hangs across that statue like a perverted caricature of the crucifixion and I can feel my stomach heaving upwards into my throat even before the last piece clicks into place.  
  
The body is unrecognizable, shriveled to the point where one can't even tell the gender. One thing stands out, though. One feature that has remained untouched by whatever forces have reduced this human being to this.  
  
A cascade of red hair.  
  
"Please no!" My whisper is drowned out as the chanting starts up again.  
  
TO BE CONTINUED 


	12. Confronting My Past

The Angel's Knight #12 - Confronting My Past  
  
#  
  
New York, October 14, 2017  
  
#  
  
I took the earliest flight out from Los Angeles the same night Cordelia told me about Ethan and arrived in New York in the late afternoon. Jet lag will probably kick in soon, especially as I haven't gotten much in the way of sleep last night, but for the moment I'm fully awake and not looking forward to what I'm here to do.  
  
Why am I even here? I don't really know. Yes, Cordelia has said a lot of things I should be worried about. Events in my past that, even I have to admit, don't make too much sense. I don't remember where or when I learned to sword fight. I don't know why I barely managed to get a spell together to defeat Amy's mom when I had been doing these things for years. I don't know why I have a hard time remembering any specific event from my past preceding the night we summoned Eyghon for the first time.  
  
Is that reason enough to visit a man whose death can't come one minute too soon? I don't think so, really, but for some reason I can't quite grasp I am here, a continent away from where I really need to be.  
  
Finding the hospital Ethan is in was not that hard. The Angel Foundation has lots of contacts in law enforcement and the government. Actually entering the building is a lot harder. I find myself filled with dread at the mere thought of going in there. Am I afraid of Ethan? No, not really. He is dangerous, I have few illusions about that one, but we have beaten him once too often for me to really be afraid of him.  
  
What is it I'm afraid of then?  
  
The nurse leads me to a separate room in the wing reserved for the rather well off patients. Looks like Ethan invested a sizeable chunk of his ill- gotten gains into a full health insurance package. Did he know he was suffering from a neurological disease? Or maybe it's something magical, a spell that misfired, mistaken for an illness by the doctors here. Not too likely, Ethan was always very careful when it came to magic. We both know a little too well how bad things can get when you are not careful with magic.  
  
It all goes back to that one night, does it not? The night we all grew up in a hurry. God, were we young. So full of it, so certain that we had it all figured out. We had been doing minor spells for years by then and considered ourselves the next coming of Merlin because we could make a whiskey bottle float (after we emptied it, of course).  
  
The wake-up call cost most of us their lives. Randall died that very night and everyone else except Ethan and me followed when Eyghon returned to hunt us down. If not for Angel Ethan and I would be dead as well and to this day a part of me can't help but think that we would have deserved it all. We summoned this creature into the world. God alone knows how many people it killed before Angel stopped it.  
  
I shake off the memories and finally enter Ethan's room. It's empty except for a small table, a single chair, and the bed. A slight body is huddled beneath the covers and for a moment I believe the nurse has brought me to the wrong room. This cannot be Ethan, can it?  
  
He has no hair left. His whole body seems to have shriveled in on itself, making him look much shorter than I remember him being. He looks malnourished, little more than skin and bone. There is an IV drip and the needle going into the back of his hand seems thicker than any of his fingers.  
  
I have hated this man for the longest part of my life, but looking at him now ... maybe this is exactly what he deserves. To waste away, to die so much more slowly than most of the people he has on his conscience. Still, looking at him now, I can't find any hatred in my heart. Only a small amount of pity and a strange feeling of closure.  
  
"I guess this is it, Ethan, old mate," I mumble to myself, not sitting down. I don't intend to stay long. "I doubt you have a very nice afterlife to look forward to."  
  
He doesn't react to my presence, which is just as well. What could he possibly say that I want to hear? Something about my past? I doubt it. The most probably reason for my memory problems is Eyghon. Maybe he muddled things all these years ago when I let him possess me, maybe that is why I can't remember some things. Whatever it is, Ethan certainly is not in any position to help me with it, even assuming he would want to.  
  
This trip was a waste of time. I should go.  
  
"Ripper?"  
  
The voice barely qualifies as a whisper and for a moment I think I imagined it. It makes me pause, though, and I can't quite bring myself to continue walking out the door. I turn around and see Ethan looking at me. His eyes are dim, unfocused, but he is looking at me.  
  
"Hello, Ethan."  
  
I find myself walking back towards the bed without conscious effort. I really should be going. Cordelia thinks Ethan has something to say to me, wants to apologize to me, but I really don't see what he can possibly say that I would want to hear. Or how I could possibly accept any apology he might come up with. I remember once telling Buffy that forgiveness is an act of compassion, given to people because they need it, not because they deserve it.  
  
Maybe the fact that I am not capable of any forgiveness towards this man is a sign of weakness, but I don't really care.  
  
"You are here," Ethan whispers, a small smile on his lips. "Isn't that strange, you being here."  
  
I finally take the chair and sit down next to his bed, carefully out of reach of his withered hands. Ethan is never to be trusted and one does not need strength of muscle to put a spell on someone. During the flight here I prepared several wards of my own. Not magic in the strictest sense, more of an all-purpose defense mechanism to fend off any tricks Ethan might have up his sleeve. Ever since he once transformed me into a demon by spiking my drink I have been very careful.  
  
"A friend said you might have something to tell me."  
  
Ethan looks confused for a moment, his eyes sliding off me as if he's seeing something else, something no one but him can see. He stays silent for a long minute and I wonder whether he might have forgotten I am here.  
  
"I think I know what happened," he finally continues, coughing between words. "I ... there was so much power in the air that night. And I wanted it so ... so badly."  
  
"What are you talking about, Ethan?" Did he do some kind of ritual? Is that why he is here, barely clinging to sanity and wasting away before my eyes?  
  
"I forgot," Ethan goes on, apparently oblivious to my words. "We all forgot. Or suppressed, I guess. We couldn't handle what we had done. God, what have we done?"  
  
"We?"  
  
He drifts off again, staring at nothing. There is a sinking feeling in my stomach, some kind of instinct that tells me his words are incredibly important. What did he do? Who is we? Did Ethan set something in motion? Is that why Cordelia got a vision of him? I still don't understand what all that has got to do with my past, my muddled memories.  
  
"I'm sorry, Rupert," Ethan whispers, focusing on me once again. "I'm so sorry."  
  
I feel a spark of anger and much prefer it to that earlier feeling of dread.  
  
"What are you sorry for, Ethan?" I growl at him. "For doing your best to make my life a living hell more than once? For threatening my children? For killing innocents? Tell me what you are sorry for, old friend!"  
  
Ethan seems to shrink back from my words and for a moment I feel a bit guilty. Only for a moment, though.  
  
"It was all that night," he murmurs, not looking at me. "Too much power. What we did ... Chaos was the only answer. No rules, no need to make sense of anything."  
  
He certainly isn't making any sense right now. What night is he talking about? And Chaos? Ethan started worshipping Chaos only a short time after ... that night.  
  
"Are you talking about the night we summoned Eyghon, Ethan?"  
  
"It shouldn't have gone like that. We thought we could control it."  
  
"I was there."  
  
By now I am very much convinced that he is just talking crazy. Is he going to apologize for what happened that night? Ethan has many things to feel guilty for, but that night is probably the only one among them that I cannot condemn him for. We all messed up that night. We all got Randall killed. If that is the only thing he feels guilty for than he is certainly far beyond redemption.  
  
"Yes," Ethan says, looking at me like he sees me for the first time. "You were there. I remember. You ... oh God, I remember. It shouldn't have happened that way. I never meant to..."  
  
There is so much anguish and pain in his eyes now that I can't help but flinch back.  
  
"Ethan, I don't understand. Yes, a lot of terrible things happened that night, but..."  
  
Something causes me to fall quiet. A look in his eyes such as I have never before seen on a human being. A look of such complete and utter horror and self-loathing that I think my heart skips a beat. Ethan opens his mouth and...  
  
A moment later he falls back onto the sheets and the life sign monitor beside him shrills in alarm. Half a second later two nurses are inside, shoving me away from the bedside and working frantically to save a life that is far beyond saving. I can hear them yell at each other. A doctor comes in and says something about adrenalin or such. I don't pay any attention.  
  
Ten minutes later they pronounce Ethan dead. Heart failure, it seems. Probably related to his disease. The brain just stopped sending the right signals to the heart and everything stopped. One of the nurses gives me her condolences. Yes, I did say he was an old friend, didn't I? I nod, not really hearing her words.  
  
I have no clear memory of leaving the hospital or walking back to my hotel room. I probably should make preparations to head back to Los Angeles with the first flight tomorrow morning. There is much work to be done. People depend on me.  
  
I sit down on my bed and just stare at the wall in front of me, my thoughts whirling around in circles. Ethan is dead. A small part of me can't help but be sorry for that. He was, at one time, my best friend and more. All that is no longer important, though. No, what haunts me is those final words he said. The last words he uttered before his heart failed.  
  
The doctors can say what they want, but I know that he died because of that memory he seemed to regain at that moment. That look in his eyes... I imagine that it must have been very much like the look Angel had when he first regained his soul. When the human being he was remembered everything he had done in his 150 years as a cruel demon.  
  
Ethan remembered something and he told me. Only it cannot be true. Just another trick? One last cruel joke to play on me before he died? Or maybe just ramblings of a madman, nonsense made up by a diseased brain in its death throes. Does it matter? It isn't true, that much is for certain. Me sitting here is all the proof I need for that, isn't it?  
  
Ethan's last words were nothing but nonsense.  
  
"I'm sorry, Rupert," he said. "I'm so sorry I killed you."  
  
TO BE CONTINUED 


	13. Full Contact Sparring

The Angel's Knight #13 - Full Contact Sparring  
  
#  
  
Los Angeles, October 14, 2017  
  
#  
  
I didn't expect this weird a day when I went to bed yesterday, let me tell you that. Granted, when you're in my line of work pretty much every day is weird, but only by comparison to all those normal people I keep hearing about. Never seem to meet any of those. All the people I hang out with are just as weird as me, if not more so.  
  
I hate getting up early. I want to establish that much because I am not usually in this grouchy a mood. Seeing as I usually don't get to bed before three or four am, usually after a really exhausting physical workout with sparring partners of the undead kind, maybe you can empathize. Times were I got by with three hours of sleep each night and still had energy to burn even after staking a dozen vampires. God, I miss being young.  
  
Don't get me wrong. Thirty-five isn't exactly retirement home age. Plus girls like me get better with age, at least as far as fighting skills and strength are concerned. Wes tells me I'm the strongest Slayer ever simply by the fact that I have lasted as long as I have. Some days I think he just wants to flatter me.  
  
As far as I'm concerned the strongest Slayer ever isn't here anymore.  
  
Okay, no gloomy thoughts right now. There are other problems on the Slayer plate today and they're of the really weird kind. When I first got called as the Slayer all these years ago my Watcher, my first one, gave me all this blah blah blah about how I was now the one girl in all the world with the strength and skill to defeat vampires, demons, and the forces of darkness. Only she had to add 'Oh, by the way, there is another girl. You're not the only one after all.'  
  
Bummer, eh? Anyway, it wasn't so bad. Being the Chosen Two instead of the Chosen One was a lot of fun, at least for a time. Then it stopped being fun and got really fucked up, but that is a story I don't intend to rehash. It's over with and done. I'm not that person anymore, haven't been for over a decade. I can't tell you the exact moment I turned my life around. I guess it was a lot of little baby steps, the final one being when I learned that I was now the one girl in all the world for real. The only one left.  
  
Things went up after that. I got a Watcher again, one that holds little resemblance to the spineless geek he was when I first met him. Wes is pretty cool these days. It's only occasionally you still see the little bookworm peek out behind his manly beard stubble and sexy accent. Considering that I almost tortured him to death once I still don't quite know why he decided to take me back, but he did. I don't think I can ever properly thank him for that.  
  
"I don't think she believes you, Wes," I tell him, coming out of my thoughts.  
  
"I fear you are correct, Faith."  
  
We spent the better half of the day trying to convince a young girl called Diana that she is the Slayer. Fancy that, eh? For sixteen years I've been the Chosen One and now, out of nowhere, there is this girl who also has a claim to the title. I wonder if this is how B felt when she first met that Slayer that preceded me. Kendra, I think she was called. Never expected to meet my own successor. Except for that one slip-up involving a certain blonde no Slayer ever had that privilege. Death doesn't usually let you go again once it's got its teeth into your throat.  
  
Diana is a Slayer. I get that same wicked vibe from her I remember feeling every single time I was around B. Fuck, it's been sixteen years since I felt it, but the memory is clear as day. A buzz running up and down my spine, the hairs on my neck standing up straight. A little like when I zero in on a vampire, yet completely different. Vamps make me feel itchy and pissed, but this ... this is different.  
  
As for how I feel about suddenly being one half of the Chosen Two again instead of the Chosen One ... well, I don't really know. Don't think it has sunken in quite yet. It doesn't help that Diana is still looking at us as if she thinks we're completely out of our minds. Yeah, I know that look, kiddo. When I met my first Watcher I was convinced she was on a wicked trip and asked her whether she got any of that shit left for me.  
  
When it appeared that Diana was on the verge of freaking out completely Wes decided to call for a break. Gunn has taken the kid for lunch, leaving the Watcher man, the witch, and me to figure things out.  
  
"You really don't have a single clue about this, do you?" I ask him, smirking.  
  
"Unless you neglected to mention your untimely death, no."  
  
Wes is quite good at punning back at me these days. Most of the people around here are, actually. The days when I managed to shock them all with a few choice words and a sexy smirk are long gone. Boy, even Tara manages to get one up on me now and then. Speaking of which...  
  
"Could you explain that aura thing to me again, blondie?"  
  
Tara, reclining in a nearby chair, brushes some blonde strands out of her hair. She looks troubled.  
  
"I can't really describe it any better, Faith. Your and Diana's auras appear almost completely in synch. It's a rare thing and I've never seen it before. If Wesley is to be believed, though, it's the same kind of harmony you shared with Buffy."  
  
Harmony is not the word I would use to describe the state of affairs between B and me, not even in the days when we were something like friends.  
  
"Between your ... buzz, as you call it, and Tara's reading of your auras, I believe there is little doubt that she is, in fact, a Slayer, however it happened. The problem is, how do we convince her?"  
  
"The story hour certainly didn't get the job done," I tell Wes. "Kid looked like she was ready to nominate you for an Oscar, though. Wicked performance, Wes."  
  
"Any constructive comments?" He raises his eyebrows at me, but there is the slightest smile on his lips, showing that he's not really irked.  
  
"I think the time-honored method is our way to go, Wes. Let's get physical!"  
  
He frowns. "Do you really think taking this amnesiac girl out into a cemetery to stake her first vampire is a good idea?"  
  
"Forget the cemeteries and the vamps! There are other ways to get the juices flowing, Wes. I believe there is a sparring class scheduled for about half an hour from now, isn't there?"  
  
Between Gunn, Angel, Wes, and me, not to mention quite a few of Gunn's more experienced people, we have a solid group of people with vast martial arts knowledge. Certainly enough to train quite a few recruits on how to kick demon ass. It's not just kids from the shelters who are training with us, of course. Beefstick's Initiative guys also like to send some of their top newbies our way for the final polish.  
  
"It might just work," Wes nods. "As a Slayer she should have all the instincts and skills. Even mock combat should be enough to draw them out."  
  
I can't suppress a chuckle. "Wes, I thought you'd learned by now that, with Slayers, there is no such thing as mock combat."  
  
He sighs, rubbing some spots where yesterday's training session left him with some bruises. "I seem to remember that, yes."  
  
#  
  
Convincing the kid to go along with our plan was almost as hard as convincing her she is a Slayer, but she finally resigned herself. I can be quite convincing, can't I? Class is in session in the Hyperion's big gym. It was a ballroom once, but what do we need a ballroom for? About forty people are present, most of them from the shelters, though I see at least two guys whom I know from the Initiative.  
  
The class' current trainer is also a military guy.  
  
"Hi, buzzcut," I greet him, bringing a smile to his features.  
  
I first met Graham about ten years ago, just about the time we started seriously cooperating with the Initiative. Apparently he was one of the guys involved in the whole Sunnydale fiasco all these years ago. One of the few who survived and stayed on board when it all turned to shit. He's one of the best non-supernatural fighters I've ever met and quite skilled in other areas, too.  
  
"Faith, hi," he greets me with a peck on the cheek. Eat that, Gunn! You're not the only male on this planet, brother, no matter what you might think. Okay, thoughts back to business!  
  
"Mind lending me and my new friend here the center stage for a while?" I nod my head towards Diana, who seems rather unhappy at being here.  
  
"New recruit?" Graham inquires, checking her out. Men! Show them a girl in skimpy exercise clothing (on loan from yours truly) and their IQ drops to room temperature. Some things don't change, do they? Let's hope so!  
  
"Something like that. We want to figure out what she's got."  
  
He gives me something of a look. "Want me to take this one? No offense, Faith, but most people who spar with you end up ... well, unhappy."  
  
"Black and blue you mean. Don't worry. This girl's a little more than meets the eye."  
  
He raises an eyebrow, but doesn't ask any further. Some barked orders later the mats are empty, recruits and trainers alike making room for us. All eyes are on us and I can almost hear the questions popping through their heads. Why do I take the time to train with this little girl? My schedule being what it is I normally don't have time to train with any but the most advanced classes.  
  
I got the feeling we're going to give them something of a show here today.  
  
"I don't know about his," Diana whispers to me as we move onto the mats. Her dark hair is tied back in a ponytail and she's biting her bottom lip. I wonder whether I ever looked that young and uncertain. Probably did, but that was ages ago. As far as Slayers go I'm a senior citizen several times over and sometimes I feel like it, too.  
  
"Trust me, kiddo! You got the moves; you just don't know it yet. And hey, I promise I won't be too hard on you."  
  
"I never fought anyone before. I think. I don't even know where to start."  
  
"You will."  
  
We take position in the center of the mats and I tune out the crowd, concentrating on her. Oh yeah, she's a Slayer all right. The buzz is there in full force, growing even stronger with the promise of impending combat. I catch myself grinning in anticipation. Being what I am I have a real problem finding suitable sparring partners. The big A can give me a decent workout, but he's pretty much the only one and a very busy man to boot.  
  
Well, let's see what little Diana here can do.  
  
I start by throwing a few easy kicks and punches her way, nothing too fancy. She ducks and blocks without hesitation and there is a look of surprise on her face as she does.  
  
"How did I...?"  
  
"All part of the package, kiddo."  
  
I begin to put some more effort into my attacks and Diana reacts again, blocking and ducking with ease. Her style is raw and the look of astonishment ruins the image a bit, but she is doing well. We're still in mere human territory here, though. Time to push the envelope a bit more.  
  
Gradually increasing the strength and speed of my attacks soon takes us up to supernatural levels. I hear some gasps from our audience, to whom our movements are getting increasingly blurry. Diana matches my speed and her movements become more and more fluid, almost as if her body is starting to remember something long forgotten. It was just like that for me, too. Being the Slayer gives us a whole heap of instinctive skills, we just need to learn how to access them.  
  
Looks like Diana is a fast learner.  
  
All she's doing so far is defending herself. Time to see whether she can do the other stuff as well. On my next attack I intentionally leave myself wide open, practically begging her to take a good shot at me. The kid doesn't disappoint. She ducks under my swing and smoothly moves into a roundhouse kick, her foot zipping towards my face with enough force to hospitalize many a man. I block her and go on the offensive once more.  
  
Time quickly ceases to have meaning as we fall into an ever-quickening rhythm of strikes and counter-strikes. The clueless look on Diana's face slowly becomes one of intense concentration with the barest hint of a smile in there. Sweat flows freely down both our faces and I can actually feel the first traces of tiredness in my bones. Man, this kid is good.  
  
I have no idea how long we fight and I don't give a damn. This is too much fun. In the end we're sparring in earnest, no more holding back on my side, and it's not strength or speed but twenty years' edge of experience that enable me to take her down. Diana leaves herself open for half a second and I drop down to sweep her feet out from under her. Before she can flip up again (a move that left her completely dumbfounded when she found herself performing it the first time) I'm on top of her, wrenching her arm behind her back into a painful hammerlock. She tries to throw an elbow at me, but it's too awkward a position with me sitting on top of her.  
  
"Give?" I ask her with a smirk on my face. Boy, I haven't had this good a workout in ages.  
  
Diana groans, but finally taps the mat in submission. I pull her up and become aware of the many stares and hanging jaws around us. I can't help but give a little bow.  
  
"I believe we can lay all doubt to rest," Wes comments.  
  
"I can't believe I did that," Diana says, shaking her head.  
  
"Believe it, kiddo! You gave me a wicked workout here."  
  
"But I ... I never did stuff like this before. That I can remember anyway."  
  
"She's a Slayer, isn't she?" Graham asks, clueing in.  
  
"Got it in one, buzzcut."  
  
"But I thought a new Slayer was only called when..."  
  
"Believe me, your guess is as good as ours."  
  
Gunn throws Diana a towel and she absentmindedly begins dabbing at her sweaty forehead. From the look on her face, though, she is in a completely different place. I've never been good with words, so I just keep my quiet and put a hand on her shoulder, squeezing in support. She gives me half a smile, but I can tell she is wigged in a big way.  
  
"Come on, kiddo! Let's head for the showers. The big brains here can try and figure out how it all came to pass."  
  
She hesitates for a moment, but then comes along. Believe me, kid, I know what it's like when life is like a roller coaster and all you can do is hang on and see where it takes you. A hot shower won't solve all your problems, but it'll at least take your mind off them for a minute or two. Sometimes that is the best one can get in this business.  
  
TO BE CONTINUED 


	14. Yet More Pieces

The Angel's Knight #14 - Yet More Pieces  
  
#  
  
Los Angeles, October 14, 2017  
  
#  
  
A friend once told me that he loves me, but he'll never understand how my brain works. I guess it was an underhanded compliment or something; I'm still not sure. At the time I was launching into an explanation about neurological processes and lost him within the first few seconds. I was a bit less than socially apt at the time.  
  
I like to think I've gotten a bit better at it. Living in a cave for five years, on the run from demons that considered me something just below cattle, can seriously screw you up, let me tell you that, especially if you're the kind of girl who barely ever left the library before being banished to an alternate dimension by accident.  
  
When I got back I spent about half a year in a different kind of cave, hiding in a room right here in the Hyperion, every bit as scared as before. I was back home; back on Earth, but for a long time I didn't really believe it. It didn't help that the handsome stranger who rescued me in the first place took off right after he brought me here; spending several months in a retreat to mourn for the woman he loved. No, I don't blame Angel for that. If there is anyone to blame it's circumstances and it's really hard to blame something that insubstantial.  
  
Anyway, things have changed since then. For a time I considered going back home, going back to the life I had before I ended up in that cave in an alternate dimension. It would never have worked, though. I had changed too much. I also refused to abandon the people who had saved me. When Angel came back from his retreat he started expanding his fight against evil in a big way and needed every single helping hand he could get. So I stayed. I haven't regretted it yet.  
  
I had to learn a whole new set of rules, though. Rules are a good thing in my opinion. They let you know how things work, what's possible and what's not. That's one of the reasons I seldom left the library even before the whole Phylea thing. I can get the rules of physics and nature. I understand how things work at the molecular level, the atomic level, even the quantum level. I understand what happens when you split an atom or tweak a super string.  
  
It's people I always had trouble understanding. Put two atoms together and they always behave in the same way. Put two people together ... well, you can never be sure what happens.  
  
For a time I thought that demons and magic were like people, far beyond my understanding. Things got better, though. The supernatural has rules as well. Most of the time they don't really make a lot of sense, but once you simply accept a few things as given, even though you can't explain them, you kinda get by.  
  
The closest I ever got to explaining the whole supernatural thing without violating every law of nature was quantum physics. Manipulation of probabilities, things changing according to the expectations of the observer.  
  
For example: I don't really believe in God, but it's fact that a cross repels and burns a vampire. My theory is that it happens not because of some sort of divine grace, but because of the power of faith (not Faith with a capital 'F', though she's pretty powerful as well). A lot of people believe in God, a lot of psychic energy is focused into the symbol of the cross. Enough psychic energy to repel and burn a demon.  
  
If you go along similar lines of thought you can also come to a working theory on the mechanics of magic. It's mostly manipulation of probabilities. Summoning lighting, for example, as I saw Tara do once (and boy was that impressive). Theoretically lightning can strike anywhere, at any time, even from clear skies. If one simply finds a way of changing the odds, changing one in a million into one in one, then you have magic. And a lighting bolt.  
  
The point is, there is always an explanation. Everything can be figured out.  
  
Or so I thought until I started burying myself in the non-stop visions Cordelia has been getting these past few weeks. Her visions are another thing I have tried to find an explanation for, without much luck so far. I think she is somehow connected to a quantum field, something that exists beyond the linear dimension of time, allowing her glimpses into the future. Okay, it doesn't explain why she always sees things connected to the latest evil or so, but it's a start.  
  
What I do know is that the visions have been getting worse and worse over the years. They have taken her eyesight from her, made it so she has trouble distinguishing her own memories from the sensations implanted into her mind via the visions. I know she has had some opportunities to give them up but hasn't taken them. I wonder whether she is regretting that now.  
  
Anyway, the point is that Cordelia has received a lot of information lately, something we are sure is going to assemble into a larger picture. I know Angel is on his way back from New England where he talked to that coven to help him make sense of the more esoterical things Cordelia has seen. Twice across the continent within 24 hours. Good thing vampires don't really need much in the way of sleep. Me, I'm trying to work out some of the math. Figuratively speaking, of course. Math does not help solve this problem.  
  
The thing I've been concentrating on the most among that mass of raw data is the Hellmouth. Ever since I first learned of it I was fascinated. I mean, who wouldn't be? A mystical convergence that attracts all kinds of supernatural evil and doubles as a doorway to some kind of alternate dimension? Okay, so that alternate dimension thing really gives me the creeps. I'm not a fan of alternate dimensions. I want to know how it is possible that creatures from all over the world are attracted by it. What kind of energy does it pour out? How does it all work?  
  
I go through the data chronologically. The Spanish settlers who originally founded Sunnydale apparently knew something. Why else would they have named their settlement Bocca del Inferno? Then, around the turn of the 20th century, Mayor Richard Wilkins took over and pretty much transformed the town into his very own ritual ground, setting in motion a hundred year plan to ascend into a pure demon.  
  
In the 1930s a vampire called Heinrich Nest, more commonly known as the Master, tried to open the Hellmouth. Until that point no information indicated that the Hellmouth was in any way a dimensional portal, just a nexus of energy. He almost succeeded, but then found himself trapped somehow, imprisoned by the very energies he had come to unleash.  
  
When he was about to get free there were all sorts of apocalyptic signs. Water turning into blood, earthquakes, pretty much the entire range of things mentioned in the Bible. Then he freed himself and the Hellmouth opened, unleashing some kind of demonic creature. His death closed it again.  
  
A year after that Angel, or rather his evil alter ego, tried to awaken a demon called Akathler, who could apparently open a vortex to a Hell dimension simply by breathing in. This demon was - coincidentally? - found buried right there in Sunnydale, close to the Hellmouth. The vortex was open briefly, just long enough to swallow up Angel, then closed once more.  
  
Again a year later the Hellmouth was briefly opened by some kind of apocalyptic demon cult. And again a year later a group of demons undertook an even less successful attempt at the same.  
  
Glory, a supposed god, tried to open a portal to an alternate dimension (again with the alternate dimensions) almost right on top of the Hellmouth. Coincidence? Somehow I don't think so.  
  
Finally we know that Willow Rosenburg, a powerful witch, tried to channel the Hellmouth energies for some purpose. The others think it was to try and resurrect Buffy Summers, the Slayer, who died stopping Glory. Whatever she tried to do it apparently went wrong in a big way, leaving Sunnydale a disaster area clouded in a perpetual dust storm and the Hellmouth's energy output greatly reduced.  
  
So much for the facts. According to them the Hellmouth is ... what? A nexus of some sort for energies of unknown composition? A doorway to an alternate dimension? A prison for giant demonic entities the Master wanted to free? A focus for a ritual that would transform a human into a greater demon? Something that makes it easier to open yet more dimensional portals?  
  
It seems to be all these things at once and yet that does not make any sense, does it? Why would Spanish settlers build a town on a portal to Hell? Why would people bury demons that can open dimensional portals right next to another dimensional portal? Too many inconsistencies do not a rule make. Okay, I came up with that saying myself, but it's still correct.  
  
I scan through the logs of Cordelia's visions. In one of them she saw someone who we are rather sure was the Master, Heinrich Nest. She saw him in 1997 when he managed to break free from his prison and opened the Hellmouth. Cordelia was there when it happened, was almost eaten by the creature that crawled out of the ground, yet her vision showed her something different than what she remembered. She saw Master Nest gleefully staring into a bottomless pit of raw energy, a vast pillar of pure power that was unleashed that day, only to fade into nothingness when Nest died.  
  
She also saw Angel and Akathler, saw him tumble into the vortex unleashed by the demon with a sword right through his chest. There mere thought of that makes me wince. I've seen Angel mortally wounded more than once and it barely slowed him down, but still ... anyway, according to all we know Angel ended up in a Hell dimension where he was tortured for centuries. Only that is not what Cordy saw. She saw Angel tumbling into that very same bottomless pit of energy Nest had seen, no demons or torture devices to be found.  
  
It goes on like that. Cordelia saw a man she says was Mayor Richard Wilkins, standing on the edge of that same pit, preparing for his Ascension. She saw the group of demons that tried to open the Hellmouth tapping deeply into that pillar of fire.  
  
I need a theory. Everything starts with a theory. Something that encompasses all available facts. Once that's done you start looking for the flaws in the theory, do everything possible to try and prove it wrong. If you can't, then there's a good chance you've got something workable.  
  
The Mayor, the Master, Angelus, those apocalypse demons. Different agendas, yet somehow Cordelia sees them all doing the same thing. Accessing some kind of energy. Not a portal, just energy. How does that go together with the things that actually happened? Big demons crawling out of the Hellmouth, Angel being tortured in Hell, the Mayor transforming into a demon?  
  
Maybe it all goes back to my theory on magic. Magic deals in probabilities, changing the odds until improbable things become fact. Heisenberg said that simple observation of events changes these events according to the observer's expectations. Could it be that...?  
  
Okay, so I'm a big, bad vampire and I'm going to this nexus of energy. What do I expect to find? What do I want to find? Demons? Monsters? Hell on Earth? Judging by the vampires I've met these last sixteen years, Angel excluded, it's probably something like that.  
  
I don't know enough about Mayor Richard Wilkins, but seeing as he had a plan to become a demon himself he probably wasn't interested in finding a portal leading to yet more demons. What's the point in becoming a greater demon when the world is full of them? So he probably wasn't looking for a portal, just a source of power for his ascension.  
  
By all accounts Angelus was looking to destroy the whole world, punishing it for making him feel human emotions. So by sheer chance he finds a demon buried close to the Hellmouth that gives him the opportunity to do exactly that. A demon that can swallow the world and banish all its inhabitants into a Hell dimension.  
  
Angel falls into that very same dimension. He expected to end up in Hell and so he did. But what if there was no such dimension? Cordelia saw nothing but energy. The same energy that gave Nest the 'Old Ones' he expected to find. The same energy that enabled Mayor Wilkins to ascend into a greater demon.  
  
Yes, that could make sense. The Hellmouth is not a portal, but a source of energy. Energy that, in some way I don't understand yet, shapes itself according to the expectations of those who encounter it. Cordelia saw all these encounters and there were probably a lot more. Maybe those Spanish settlers were simply a bit too religious for their own good, so afraid of the devil and damnation that the Hellmouth showed them all they were afraid of and that's what caused them to call their town Bocca del Inferno.  
  
Okay, so if that's the case then we can assume...  
  
"Fred?"  
  
I look up, surprised to see that it's dark outside. I originally intended to go to bed early today. Sitting with Cordelia all morning, dealing with the surprise of having a new Slayer pop out of nowhere, and brainstorming about the Hellmouth all afternoon... I could use some tacos now. A lot of them.  
  
Gunn is leaning in the doorway, looking tired and edgy. I guess spending the better part of the day with your ex does that to you. I like Faith most of the time, but that thing between her and Gunn... best not to get into that. For a short time I found myself attracted to Gunn as well, but it's probably better that it didn't work out that way. He's a good friend and nothing ruins friendship like a romance gone bad.  
  
"What is it?" I ask him, rubbing my tired eyes. I think I need new glasses. Or maybe just ten hours of uninterrupted sleep.  
  
"I'm heading back out to the shelter. Just wanted to let you know that Cordelia asked for you. Looks like she got some new headbangers that fall into your territory. She also says she wants to meet Diana."  
  
I sigh.  
  
"This probably isn't a good idea, don't you think? This girl has had enough shocks heaped on her for one day even without... well..."  
  
"...meeting the naked masked visionary chick that knew she was coming before she herself did? Yeah, I hear you."  
  
"I'll head up to her in a minute. Say hello to Anne for me, will you?"  
  
"Will do. Oh, before I forget. Big meeting tomorrow once the bossman gets back. English and Tara plan to stay up all night and research this second Slayer thing. Hopefully they can tell us something tomorrow."  
  
I nod, thankful that someone has already volunteered for the all-night research session. I don't think I have it in me right now.  
  
"Get some sleep, Fred," Gunn says. "No offense, but you look like you need it."  
  
"I'll try. Good night, Gunn."  
  
He leaves and I try to focus on the papers in front of me again. Where was I? Something about the Hellmouth. Energy that adapts itself to expectations. Okay, if that's the case we can further assume...  
  
TO BE CONTINUED 


	15. The Meeting

The Angel's Knight #15 - The Meeting  
  
#  
  
Los Angeles, October 14, 2017  
  
#  
  
When you remember just the last two weeks of your life and the last 24 hours have been so incredibly strange that you wonder whether you might still be in a coma, dreaming the day away, you quickly learn to put things into perspective. Okay, so I have no memory of my life prior to waking up, I staked my first vampire last night, and I found out I'm supposed to be this quasi-mystical warrior person called the Slayer, which incidentally makes me strong and fast enough to kick just about anyone's ass. Stranger things have happened.  
  
Or so Faith, this other Slayer, tells me. God, half the time I still don't know whether to break down and cry or to start giggling insanely until they haul me off towards the padded room. Faith's little stories about how she has seen much stranger things haven't really helped much.  
  
What do I make of her? Not really got a clue yet. I mean, she's pretty much old enough to be my mom, yet half the time I want to yell something along the lines of 'Grow Up' at her. I think I've blushed more in the last three hours than in my entire life. Okay, that doesn't say much, but you get my meaning, right? Besides, I'm pretty sure that I hate blushing.  
  
Anyway, Faith was right about one thing. A hot shower was really needed. It does help that this place has also got a steam bath and a swimming pool. After spending the last few hours doing nothing but relaxing in there I'm more or less ready to see whatever comes next in this strange play called my life.  
  
After a little sleep that is. The only thing I really want right now is a soft bed and no dreams.  
  
Faith headed out after we came out of the showers, telling me that she was going to patrol for vampires. Vampires! I think I still have some trouble getting my head around that concept. Vampires are real. All kinds of demons are real. And here I am, smack in the middle of some kind of global demon- hunting organization that is comprised mostly of former street kids and operates out of a renovated 1950s hotel. Too strange for TV, could only happen in real life.  
  
Will they expect me to join up? From the looks everyone has given me, especially after that sparring thing with Faith, the answer is probably yes. Does that mean I've got to patrol as well? Go out every night and ... hunt vampires? Man, this is still too strange for me. Is this supposed to be my life? Okay, granted, it would be kind of an improvement compared to that sad little story I was told was my life, but still ... fighting demons for a living?  
  
Interestingly enough the idea doesn't really feel all that strange to me. Ever since I can remember, all two weeks of it, I had this feeling that I had to be somewhere. Somewhere that was here in Los Angeles, which is why I ran out on that social services lady that wanted to bring me back to Frisco. I sorta knew I had a place to be somewhere. A home or ... or something like that. My feet led me to that homeless shelter and for a while I thought that might be it, but I still felt ... restless. Anxious. It didn't feel right.  
  
That feeling is no longer there now. Just gone, poof! And this ... as strange as it all is, it also feels ... familiar. As if the whole fighting demons thing isn't quite so strange after all. Maybe I did know something about this before losing my memories. Maybe I even had all this strength and speed stuff before the accident. I survived a full year of living on the streets, after all. Have to be pretty tough to do that, right?  
  
This isn't getting me anywhere, is it? Best to get a good night's sleep and hopefully get some answers tomorrow. If nothing else these people here are trying to help me figure out what happened. And something did happen, more than just that fire. I doubt dying of excessive smoke inhalation is enough to give me superpowers. I didn't pay attention to the entire story about this Slayer thing, mostly because I had to keep myself from starting that whole insane giggling thing, but it seems like it shouldn't have happened to me. Not as long as Faith is still alive anyway.  
  
Thoughts going in circles here, girl! Sleep! First priority! Now where did Mr. Windham-Pryce say they had a room prepared for me? Was it second or third floor? Damn, I really should have paid more attention. Okay, there are enough people running around this place. One of them should be able to tell me where the mystery supergirl can get some sleep, right?  
  
I walk down the next in what seems like and endless series of corridors when something ... tingles? A strange feeling spreads through my belly, a shiver runs down my spine and gives me Goosebumps. I can hear my pulse increase from one beat to the next and my eyes whip around, looking for ... what? What is happening here?  
  
"Hello," someone says behind me and I jump about two feet into the air, almost bumping my head on the ceiling. My pulse just tripled. I turn around and there is a guy standing in front of me. How did he get ... and wow! What a piece of ... how did he do that? I thought I was supposed to ... man, the things I could do to ...  
  
"Sorry," he says, his lips curving into half a smile. "I didn't mean to frighten you."  
  
God, you can frighten me anytime. I think I'm in love. And ... do I know this guy? I've got the strangest feeling that I've seen him before. There is something incredibly familiar about those eyes ... those incredibly brown, handsome, soulful eyes.  
  
"N-no problem," I stutter. Why am I stuttering? I never stutter. Haven't done it the last two weeks anyway. "I just didn't ... I mean ..."  
  
"My name is Angel," he says, offering me his hand. "You must be Diana."  
  
I numbly take his hand and where his skin touches mine ... wow! Is there a power line here somewhere? I'm not imagining this, am I? He seems to feel it, too. There is this slightly puzzled look on his face. His handsome, adorable ... okay, enough with the hormones!  
  
"I, I must be?"  
  
"The others told me about you. I thought you had already gone to bed, though."  
  
Finally my brain decides to start working again. Yes, right! Faith said something about a guy called Angel running this place. Away on a journey or something, but due to return for some kind of big fact-finding meeting tomorrow. I don't know what I expected the boss of a global demon-hunting organization to look like, but ... okay, I really didn't expect him to look like this. Certainly not.  
  
I'm suddenly very aware of the fact that I'm wearing nothing but the bathrobe Faith got for me. Just this silken bathrobe, nothing else. And here is this guy and he ... God, I need to get my mind out of the gutter! I'm in serious trouble here! I don't remember my life! I've got superpowers! Vampires are real! If there was ever a worse time to swoon over a guy ... and what a guy!  
  
"Yeah, I ... I planned to, but ... I think I k-kinda got lost here. It's such a big place and I ..."  
  
Yeah, way to go, girl! Impress him with your talking and orientation skills. That will really work out just fine! And where is this feeling of déjà vu coming from anyway? I'm standing in a dark corridor, talking to this incredible guy and ... why am I thinking of a dark alley right now? I didn't kick him to the ground, did I? No, why would I do such a thing?  
  
He is still looking at me with that slightly puzzled frown, almost like he is trying to remember where he has seen me before. Maybe he has? I mean, I'd like to think I'd remember meeting a guy like that before, but I know better. If he runs this place maybe he came by the shelter sometime during the last year when I was staying there. You never know.  
  
He is still holding my hand and ... God, this feels so strange, yet so incredibly right at the same time. There is something funny about how his hand feels. Almost as if ... is he cold? Why would he be...? Okay, he just came in from outside, but it's California, after all. Even late in the evening it doesn't get all that cold in these parts.  
  
"Let me take you to your room," he finally says, removing his hand from mine and taking a step back. He looks uncomfortable and the hormonal part of me is yelling to kiss that look off his face. God, get a grip, girl! Besides, I'd say he's at least ten years older than me. Haven't I got enough complications in my incredibly confusing life right now? I certainly don't need this on top of everything else.  
  
But he looks so cute and ...  
  
"Yeah, that would be great," I say quickly, hoping to cut off my own thoughts at the roots. Don't go there! Not now! Maybe later. Later I might ... no, no thoughts of later! Just the now! Focus on the now! There's nothing but the now! Here and now! Right here with this gorgeous ... no, not gorgeous! Just a guy, someone to help me find my room, nothing else! Nothing!  
  
"This way," he motions down the corridor I just came from. Great, I probably walked right by my room. I really need to stop this thinking thing before it gets out of hand.  
  
Somehow I manage to keep my mind completely blank until we reach the room in question. Not too big, but nicely decorated. The bed was pretty much the only thing I had eyes for, though. I felt so tired even seeing it made my knees weak.  
  
"You should have everything you need here," Angel says, his voice sliding over me like black velvet. Suddenly the thought of sleep slips down into the number two slot of my priorities list. He turns to leave, his back rigid with some kind of tension, and I only know that I don't want him to leave.  
  
"Can I ask you something?"  
  
He pauses, looking back at me over his shoulder. There is something like a flash of pain in his dark eyes, almost as if he's feeling guilty for something. What is going on with this guy?  
  
He waits expectantly for me to ask whatever question is on my mind. Okay, not a man of many words, apparently. Would have surprised me if he were. There is an air surrounding him that just screams strong and silent type. And I should really ask him one of my many questions now, otherwise he'll leave and think me a ditz.  
  
"Did you ... I mean ... when you came in ... in the corridor back there, I mean ... did you also get this ... this feeling? Like a tingle?"  
  
What am I doing? Why don't I just ask him whether he's also got the hots for me? He turns back around and comes walking towards me. Is he going to ... no, of course he won't! He doesn't even know you, girl, and he's ten years older at least. He ... he walks past me, hands clasped behind his back, looking deep in thought.  
  
"It was to be expected," he just says, though he sounds a bit uncertain. "Your senses noticed me before I appeared and ... well, my kind has something of a proficiency for noticing Slayers as well."  
  
"Your kind?" What is he talking about?  
  
"Oh, I ... I assumed the others told you."  
  
"Told me what?"  
  
Someone coughs behind me and I look away from Angel to see Ms. McClay standing in the door, looking at both of us.  
  
"Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt. I was just checking whether you had everything you need, Diana."  
  
For a moment I don't have a single clue what she's talking about. Yeah, the room. She means the room. Towels and stuff. Yeah.  
  
"No, I'm okay. I was just talking to ..."  
  
I turn around and there is no one there. Angel is gone.  
  
"How did he...?" There is no other door except the one Ms. McClay is standing in. Did he go out the window? Why didn't I hear him?  
  
"He's good at that," Ms. McClay says. "One of my friends has been trying to get a collar with a bell on him for years, but it never works."  
  
"Oh!" I can't think of anything else to say. Okay, so he pulled a Houdini on me and vanished. Why should I feel bummed about that?  
  
"He's probably looking to get some sleep himself. Crossing the continent twice within a day tires even the best of men."  
  
"Men," I mumble. "Ms. McClay, Angel said something about 'my kind', like ... I don't know, almost like ..."  
  
"Call me Tara," she interrupts me with a warm smile on her face. Of all the people I've met here so far Ms. McClay ... Tara ... is the one who seems the least strange and weird. "And Angel, well, Angel is not exactly a normal guy, Diana. He's ... special."  
  
"Special how?"  
  
"One of a kind special. Suffice to say he's a good guy, Diana. As good as they come. And I'll give you the rest of the story tomorrow, okay? You look really beat."  
  
One look at the bed suffices to raise sleep back into the number one slot of my list. I realize it isn't even my body that's tired, just my head. Too much to think about, too many open questions. Vampires? Slayers? Mysterious black-clad hunks that are one of a kind special and strangely familiar in some way?  
  
I just know I'm going to have extremely weird dreams tonight.  
  
With no clear memory how it happened I'm under the covers, Tara tucking me in. I wonder whether my mom looked like her in any way. I didn't see any pictures of my dead parents after I woke up. I'd like to think my mom looked something like Tara. Caring, tender, always a smile on her face.  
  
"Sleep tight, Diana," Tara murmurs as I feel my eyes fall shut. "We'll figure things out tomorrow."  
  
I think about a guy dressed in black, pinned to the ground in a dark alley, looking up at me with a smirk and asking me whether there is a problem. Then I'm off to dreamland.  
  
TO BE CONTINUED 


	16. Where the Bodies Are Buried

The Angel's Knight #16 - Where the Bodes Are Buried  
  
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London, October 15, 2017  
  
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I don't know why I'm doing this. Just because a dying man I once called a friend uttered some nonsense cooked up by his diseased brain? I wouldn't have believed a word he said when he was healthy and sane, why does his maddened ramble matter to me?  
  
The lights of London are barely visible in the distance; most of the city has gone dark in the hour before dawn. Always darkest before dawn, isn't that how the saying goes? I had hoped it would already be morning by the time I got here, but I miscalculated the time difference between New York and London. It's just five hours, not the eight I am used to after living in California for so long. And so it's still dark here.  
  
Why am I doing this? I haven't been back in England for six years and now I am in such a hurry that I couldn't even wait for a flight? I abused my position as third in command of the Angel Foundation by requisitioning a teleportation spell for a purely private affair. Why? It's been 42 years since that night. Surely I could have waited another few hours.  
  
I close my eyes and I see it happening as if it were yesterday. 1975 was the year and we were a group of wannabe-mages that thought the world belonged to them. This abandoned junkyard just outside the city limit was our magical playground. We conjured fireballs and made abandoned cars explode. We floated through the air and made love without ever touching the ground. And then our crowning achievement: Eyghon.  
  
The place looks no different then it did back then. Urban renewal never reached this area, it seems. I wonder if another living soul set foot in here since we buried Randall. Some places where black magic was performed retain something of an echo for years, even decades, and it manifests as a subconscious repellant to everyone who comes close, causing them to go elsewhere. Did the same happen here?  
  
I have no trouble finding the spot where we lit the fire. No marks on the ground, of course. 42 years out in the open have washed everything away until this piece of ground looks no different than any other. I can see it in my memory, though. The fire, the conjuring circle we painted around it. I think I can even point at the exact positions the six of us sat in. Deirdre, Thomas, Philip, Randall, Ethan, and myself.  
  
Crouching down, I place my hand on the spot where I sat. Cross-legged, right on the edge of the circle, preparing to go into a deep sleep. No dreams, just the world slipping away around me until it was replaced by the presence of the demon. Eyghon slipping into my flesh, inducing the most extraordinary high of my life. Nothing in my life before or after could compare to feeling him inside me, his essence rippling through my veins.  
  
We took turns being the host. Every time we summoned him we could feel his anger increase, his strength growing. Eyghon did not like being summoned for our pleasure. He wanted to possess a host for good, not just an hour or two. Even as he grew stronger we grew more careless. Then it was Randall's turn and...  
  
I stand up again and look around. Where did we ... ah, yes. Over there. What was once a slightly dented Mercedes Benz is now nothing but a rusted carcass, but it's still standing in the same place. I walk around it and there is nothing remarkable about the ground behind it. No sign that something is amiss.  
  
No one would be able to tell that a body was buried here 42 years ago.  
  
I close my eyes again, the memories returning unbidden. It was Randall's turn and we had put him to sleep. Ethan and I were the most proficient mages among us and we led the chant that would summon the demon into Randall's body. It was our third summoning for the night and we had all drunk quite a bit, not to mention tiring ourselves out in other ways.  
  
To this day I don't know exactly where we slipped. Maybe we slurred a few words. Maybe one of us accidentally damaged the conjuring circle. Maybe we had just grown too self-assured and didn't put enough willpower into it. It doesn't really matter, does it? The end result is the only thing that does matters and it resulted in Randall's death.  
  
I like to think we tried everything. The moment we realized what had happened we sealed Randall into the circle, preventing Eyghon from escaping. Well, he probably wouldn't have tried to escape. No, he would have killed us all and then walked away to wreck more havoc. We managed to prevent that much at least. The exorcism we tried, though, that failed. Eyghon was bonded to Randall and the only way to end it was to kill our friend.  
  
I remember every second of it. The knife sticking out of Randall's chest, his body already dead but still animated by Eyghon. The demon's taunting, his screams and curses. Finally, after what seemed like hours, the dead body disintegrated, leaving nothing but...  
  
Wait a minute! Randall's body disintegrated. We killed him and Eyghon stayed inside it as long as he could, right until the moment his presence became too much for the dead flesh and reduced it to nothing but slime. There was nothing left of Randall, nothing but that liquid slime that seeped into the ground and was washed away by the next rainfall.  
  
But ... if that is what happened ... what did we bury here?  
  
I look around for anything that might be used as an improvised shovel. I have to know. We buried something here, I'm sure of it. A body, Randall's body. But it can't have been Randall's body because there was no body left. What did we bury here? I have to know.  
  
Something that might have started life as a mudguard is the only thing I find and I start shoveling the dirt away. At the same time I try to make sense of my memories. I remember it all. Philip had left to get shovels that night, as he lived the closest. We dug the hole, the five of us. Philip, Deirdre, Thomas, Ethan, and me. We dug the hole and then dumped the body inside. Randall's body, covered with a sheet from Ethan's car.  
  
Covered so we wouldn't have to see his face.  
  
I try to remember Randall's face, but somehow I can't. There's nothing there. I only see Eyghon's visage, his features imposed upon the human flesh of his host. Why can't I remember Randall's face?  
  
I realize it has started to rain some time in the last few minutes and the ground is turning into mud. My clothes are already soaked, but somehow I don't feel the cold. Nothing matters except what lies underneath all that dirt and mud. Randall. Randall's body is down there, I know it. I helped bury it. Or did I? I'm not certain anymore. The more I try to remember the hazier things seem to get.  
  
Eyghon took over Randall. It was raining that night, too, but it was warm summer rain and we didn't care. At first everything seemed to all right. We celebrated, we drank, we shagged, everything was bright and ecstatic as usual. Then something changed. Randall changed. We could see the change coming over him, could see Eyghon take full control of him. Ethan and me had been the first to react, calling on every magical spell we knew to try and contain him.  
  
No, wait! That isn't completely right. Ethan froze. Yes, I remember. Ethan hesitated, his face full of shock and horror upon seeing what was happening to Randall. I was the first to move, the first to try and conjure a containment spell. Then Ethan came out of his shock and added his power to mine and together we sealed Randall, no, Eyghon into the circle.  
  
Is that what happened? I'm no longer certain.  
  
The mud is sliding back into the hole I'm digging and I feel like Sisyphus, but I can't stop now. I have to find what is buried down there. Who or what did we bury?  
  
Once Eyghon was sealed we tried exorcism. Yes, things had gone wrong, but nothing that could not be fixed, right? We had summoned this creature, surely we could banish it again. But it didn't work. Eyghon had grown too powerful after possessing us. He had a hook in each of our hearts, had seen our fears and weaknesses. We were no match for him. In the end there was nothing we could do but put an end to it. We could not contain Eyghon forever and this monster could not be allowed loose.  
  
I remember that I was the one who buried the dagger in Randall's heart.  
  
Suddenly I freeze, the rain pelting down on me, overcome by the memory. So clear, sharp, and bright. The knife in my hand, thrust forward. I step across the circle, taking the risk of freeing Eyghon because there is no other way. For an endless moment we are face to face, the demon and I, each just heartbeat away from killing the other. Then the gleaming blade penetrates Randall's chest and there is so much pain. Why is there pain? Eyghon did not hurt me; he wasn't fast enough. I killed Randall and stepped back, safely outside the circle again. Randall died and Eyghon howled on in impotence as his host disintegrated all around him.  
  
Why was there pain? Why was there ... blood? There was blood. Blood on my hands from where I stabbed Randall. No, not just from that wound. There is blood all over my chest and it hurts. God, it hurts. Did Eyghon get to me after all? I remember faces full of shock and fear, Ethan looking at me as if his entire world just collapsed.  
  
Why didn't I remember being hurt? I drop my improvised shovel and rip open my soaked shirt. I remember something, a searing pain, right over my heart. There is no scar there, though. I can see the scar where the Knights of Byzantium nearly gutted me. Some leftover marks from when I was at Angelus' tender mercies. A dozen other mementos of battles past. No sign of the kind of wound I now remember, though. Why isn't that wound there?  
  
Lightning flashes overhead, dipping everything around me into stark light. Things begin to swim before my eyes, pictures of the past overlaying the present. I see the others, dancing and singing in the night as the ecstasy of Eyghon's presence takes hold of them. I can see their fear as things start going wrong. The rain is soaking me to the bone and there is a pain in my chest that just won't let go.  
  
Ethan screams my name and I can see him running toward me, hands outstretched, and I know he wants to catch me, to keep me safe. I know he failed. Eyghon destroyed whatever we might have had once; it all came undone in this one night. The havoc we wrought, the life we were forced to take. I see it happening again, but somehow it's different than I remember.  
  
Without conscious effort my hands reach for the improvised shovel again and I start digging into the soaked ground once more. I know that the answer to all my questions is down there, just below the surface. We didn't bury the body that deep. We were all in too much of a shock to give Randall more than a makeshift burial. Despite the mud, despite the rain I soon find something solid in the mud.  
  
I throw the shovel aside and start digging with my bare hands, pulling things out of the mud. Bones. Human bones. Someone was buried here. Randall, it has to be him. But how? There was nothing left of him, so how can there be bones? My nails are chipped, my fingers bleeding, but I keep digging out the remains of a human body that was buried here in this spot 42 years ago. Nothing left expect the bones, no telling whose body this is. It has to be Randall, right? No one else died here that night.  
  
"I'm so sorry I killed you!" That is what Ethan said. Nothing but mad ramblings. Why would he think he killed me? He recognized me, I'm sure of it. So why would he think he killed me? It doesn't make any sense.  
  
More flashes, the past intruding into the present. Eyghon a prisoner in the circle Ethan and I sealed him in. The rest of us are arguing. We tried so many spells, every form of exorcism we knew about. Nothing helped. We know that the circle will not hold Eyghon much longer and once he gets free he will kill us all.  
  
I can see us fighting. Thomas, Philip, and myself, we have realized what we had to do. Randall has to die or we all will. Ethan and Deirdre are not going along with that plan. Ethan is yelling that there has to be another way. Tempers are rising, everyone is screaming. Finally I tear the ceremonial knife from Ethan's hand and step into the circle, Thomas and Philip holding the others back, preventing them from interfering.  
  
Eyghon stares at me from Randall's face, the face I can't remember. I can hear him laughing, can see his clawed hand rising as I cross the safety of the circle, make myself vulnerable to him. I look into his eyes and I see that he doesn't think I have the stones to do it. He thinks I'm bluffing, that I'm hoping that he will abandon Randall if I threaten him with death.  
  
I'm not bluffing. By the time he realizes that the knife is already halfway into his chest. He howls in pain as his host dies, the living flesh that could have held him forever fading all around him. I stumble back, off- balance from the thrust, looking to retreat behind the safety of the circle.  
  
Only I'm too slow.  
  
I cry out as the pain, or the memory of pain, lances through my chest. God, how could I forget a pain like this? I fall to my knees and try to stop imaginary blood from seeping out of a wound that exists only in my head. Someone grabs me, pulling me out of the circle, away from Eyghon. Past and present blur as I see Ethan's face above me, his hair sticking to his forehead from the rain, naked fear in his eyes.  
  
Perspective shifts and it seems as if I'm watching things from outside. I can see my own body on the ground, surrounded by the others, my chest a bloody mess. I can see Eyghon in the circle, laughing as he licks the blood from his claws. He is defeated, his host dying and fading, but he got his revenge.  
  
Ethan surges to his feet, his face a mask of rage and pain, and his eyes turn pitch black as he summons more magical power than either of us has ever attempted to wield. Lightning crackles around his hands as he unleashes forces he has no hope of controlling. The power of Eyghon is still cursing through his veins from the recent possession, there is magic surging through the air, fed by spilled blood and imminent death. I can see my friend's sanity snap.  
  
Then there is nothing but darkness.  
  
When I wake up the rain is gone and the sun has risen, its rays bringing the tiniest bit of warmth to my body. I'm shaking with the cold, my hands almost blue where the mud hasn't covered them. Bloody hell, I could have frozen to death here. What happened to me? What happened that night 42 years ago?  
  
I look down at the bones I pulled from the ground. That much at least was not a memory or hallucination or whatever that was. Someone died here, someone who had a body we could bury. Not Randall. Randall disintegrated.  
  
I close my eyes, trying to get my rapid heartbeat back under control. I don't know what I saw, but it can't have been true. If Eyghon had inflicted that kind of wound on me I would have died that night, but I haven't. I'm here. I'm alive. I can feel my heart beating inside my chest. Someone died here, but it wasn't me, can't have been me.  
  
This place was supposed to supply me with answers, but all I have are more questions. Why didn't I remember being hurt, if I really was? Why is there no scar from that wound? What did Ethan do that night? Who did we bury here?  
  
Pulling off my dirty jacket I improvise a bag and gather the bones together. The answers are here and I have to know them, even as a part of me screams that some things should better be left in the dark. This place, that night 42 years ago, defined my whole life. It made me the man I am today. If something else than what I remember happened to me, to the others, then I need to know.  
  
My cell phone somehow survived the night and I hit the speed dial.  
  
"This is Rupert Giles. I need a transfer to Los Angeles."  
  
TO BE CONTINUED 


	17. Guy Talk

The Angel's Knight #17 - Guy Talk  
  
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Los Angeles, October 15, 2017  
  
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"Buffy?" Wesley asks, an incredulous look on his face.  
  
I nod, cradling the steaming cup of tea in my hands. The scalding warmth seeps into my hands, but fails to chase the chill from my bones. It's something I never felt during my long years as Angelus, but ever since the return of my soul I've always been cold. Except for some precious few moments with a person now long dead. Since she died the chill has grown worse.  
  
"That's what Maryke said Cordy saw," I confirm. "Buffy and me, fighting against each other in some kind of big battle. Apparently she and Giles felt I shouldn't be told until they could confirm it."  
  
Wesley frowns, leaning back in his chair to sip from his own cup of tea.  
  
"They did not tell me about that one, either. Are we certain it was really Buffy? We know of more than one demonic species that can assume the guise of others. Being able to take the form of your opponent's loved ones is a psychological tactical advantage."  
  
"Maryke seemed certain. I will talk to Cordelia tomorrow, but her visions have never been wrong so far, have they?"  
  
God, I wish she would be wrong just this once. Buffy is at rest. Safe. She has to be.  
  
"Not wrong, no, but sometimes misleading."  
  
There were quite a few instances of that, yes. Even if I live another 264 years I will never understand why higher powers seem incapable of giving anything but cryptic advice. And yes, I realize that might be a case of hypocrisy on my part, considering how I spent my first year in Sunnydale, but it does not make it any less annoying.  
  
The first thing I did when I got back to Los Angeles was to check Buffy's grave. After I learned of Willow's horribly botched resurrection attempt all these years ago I personally went to Sunnydale and recovered Buffy's remains. No one would desecrate her like that ever again. I needed every ounce of self-control I ever had not to tear off Willow's head back then.  
  
If I had done that I might have saved quite a few lives a year down the line.  
  
Buffy is now buried in the garden of the Hyperion, her grave protected by numerous wards and spells. It is undisturbed. Whatever is going to happen will not involve her remains, that much at least seems certain.  
  
"I fear there is little we can do about that but wait," I sigh, feeling anything but happy with that state of affairs. "Besides, there are quite a few other things we have to worry about, aren't there?"  
  
Wesley looks at me for a long moment, probably hoping I will say more. Ever since my near-breakdown all these years ago when I fired them and went off the deep end my friends have been trying to be more understanding, to draw me out and get me to talk about my feelings. I love them for that, but it's just not the kind of person I am. There are things about me they will never understand.  
  
"What did Maryke say about Darla?" Wesley asks.  
  
That is the other little topic my friends have been extremely worried about ever since Cordelia first saw Darla in one of her visions. It was Darla that nearly drove me insane, after all, nearly caused me to lose my way. I told them everything that happened years ago, including my sort-of suicide attempt when I slept with her. I know that Wesley has several people in place here in the Foundation whose sole job it is to keep a lookout for Darla, sworn not to say a word about it to me. I don't really mind. The topic of Darla was closed that night sixteen years ago as far as I'm concerned.  
  
Only now it isn't.  
  
"She says she will return, along with that strange girl Cordelia always sees at her side."  
  
Wesley nods, cleaning his glasses as he sometimes does. I wonder if it's a habit he picked up from Giles or something all Watchers do.  
  
"You think you are ready to see her again?" he finally asks.  
  
"I honestly don't know. I laid Darla to rest in my mind a long time ago, but if she were to come here, stand before me ... I don't know, Wes. I am kind of hoping it won't come to that."  
  
Wesley will probably try and make sure it won't come to that. The right thing would be for me to say something about that, as it could get people killed. I keep my quiet, though. For some reason the prospect of seeing Darla again fills me with dread.  
  
Thinking of Darla causes me to think about that girl she had with her. I only had Cordelia's description or her before, but now, having seen the image thanks to Maryke's magic, I can't help but think I should know her from somewhere. The eyes, something was incredibly familiar about that girl's eyes, but I can't put my finger on it.  
  
Deciding to distract myself from my own thoughts I broach another topic.  
  
"Have you found out anything about our mystery guest?" I nod in the direction of the stairs. By now Diana is probably asleep, resting after a day filled with surprises. Seeing her earlier, so much confusion in her eyes, she reminded me of ... no, that's not a direction I want to explore further. It's bad enough that a vision tells me that Buffy will return to fight against me. The last thing I need, the last thing that poor girl needs, is for things to get even more complicated than they are already.  
  
Still, that moment when our hands touched, it was almost like... God, I really don't need this. Not now!  
  
"Not much," Wesley answers my question. "She is a Slayer, no doubt about it, but as to how she could be called... we don't have a clue. My best theory at the moment is something along the lines of divine intervention. Maybe the Powers That Be have finally realized that having but a single girl in all the world to fight against thousands of vampires and demons is not a sensible alignment of forces."  
  
I manage a chuckle. "Yes, like that's going to happen."  
  
"The only other explanation would be for Faith to have died and I don't see how that could have happened. Unless someone kidnapped her, stopped her heart for a minute, brought her back, and wiped her memory of the whole thing. Now, I'm not someone to call anything impossible, but..."  
  
"It's farfetched to say the least," I finish for him.  
  
"Yes."  
  
We lapse into silence for a moment, my thoughts returning to the triangle of problems currently in my lap. Darla and the mystery girl, Buffy, Diana. I shy away from seeking any kind of connection between the three, but my thoughts go off on their own. Darla was the one who made me into a demon. Buffy was the one who made me into a man.  
  
Diana doesn't fit in with the other two. Just a girl, even though she's a Slayer. Maybe she can be a valuable asset to our cause, but certainly no more than that. I haven't allowed anyone to be more than that ever since... I can't afford these kinds of entanglements. I value my friends, they keep me sane, but that's it! The last time I allowed myself to feel more than that for another person it ended in catastrophe.  
  
"What do you think of her?" Wesley asks.  
  
"Of Diana? I can't really say, having only met her for a few seconds."  
  
He falls silent, but keeps looking at me in that way he sometimes has. The one that says he wants to broach a topic but doesn't know how. Wesley has changed a lot from the foppish wannabe Watcher I first met in Sunnydale, but he still retains a healthy amount of British reserve.  
  
"What?" I finally ask, my patience thin tonight.  
  
"Tara came by earlier and she mentioned... well, apparently when she saw you and Diana together there seemed to be something of a..."  
  
His voice trails off, but I hear the word he isn't saying. Spark. There was a spark. When her hand touched mine I felt something, something so familiar it hurt, especially because I haven't felt, haven't allowed myself to feel it for so long.  
  
Contrary to what people might think I'm well aware of the effect I have on a lot of women. I may not be able to see my own reflection, but I would have to be blind not to recognize the looks I often get. When I was still Angelus, I delighted in using my appearance to lure in the unsuspecting. No longer.  
  
I ignore all the looks; I refuse all the many - sometimes barely veiled - offers I have gotten over the years. And it's not just because of the curse, though that is a danger I can never completely banish from my thoughts. It's not because I'm in love with my own brooding self, either. (I think it was Cordelia who came up with that theory.)  
  
"I don't know what Tara saw," I tell Wesley, "but it doesn't matter."  
  
"Really?"  
  
I give him a look, telling him to let it go, but he ignores me.  
  
"Angel, I like to believe I have a certain amount of insight into your character, or as much as any of us has. I have seen you get more and more closed off ever since ... that day."  
  
That day. No need to mention a date, we both know exactly what day he is talking about. The day the girl I promised forever to died while I was off in another dimension, giggling at my own reflection in the sunlight. The day I failed her.  
  
"I know how much you loved her, my friend," Wesley says. "Do you think she would have wanted you to spend the rest of your life like this?"  
  
"Maybe I can ask her that soon enough."  
  
Wesley sinks back into his chair. The situation is a lot more complicated than that, isn't it? Cordelia's vision has put everything into question. Buffy will come back and we will fight against each other. Maybe it means I will lose my soul again and she will be forced to stop me. Or maybe it is her that has somehow been taken over by the dark forces. Maybe it's all a ruse, a mistake, a metaphor for something entirely different.  
  
I don't know what is going to happen. I don't know what Buffy might have wanted for me, but I do know what I have to do to honor her memory. When she died I considered meeting the sunrise, hoping that I would find her in whatever afterlife might await me.  
  
I resisted that temptation, refused to take the easy way out. There was too much work left undone, too many evils still left in the world. I will stomp them all out, no matter how long it takes. I will finish the job Buffy started even if it takes me forever to do so. And then, when that job is done...  
  
"I know you mean well, Wesley," I tell him, "but that is not something you can help me with. Whatever might or might not have happened with this girl makes absolutely no difference. There are a lot of things that are more important happening right now."  
  
If there is one thing I have learned in my life, especially in these last two decades, it's how to compartmentalize. Looks to the contrary I am not a man. I have feelings, desires, and urges that my friends can never know about. The hunger I feel whenever Fred stretches her neck after a long day of work. The seething hatred still simmering somewhere in the depths of my soul every single time I meet with Riley. The urge to pay Xander back for all the cruel jokes and taunts, to show him exactly how close to the abyss he has been dancing every time he got smart with me.  
  
I have pushed these things away, hidden them deep in the darkness. It's the same place where I have hidden many of my more human feelings. I am not a man, no matter how hard I try to pretend for the sake of my friends and myself. There are things a man feels that I am not allowed to feel, cannot allow myself to feel. Contentment. Happiness. Peace. If I become complacent about my existence the whole world might pay the price, so I have to push all that away and hide it in the dark as well. It's the only way I can go on from day to day.  
  
"There is one possibility you have not considered yet," Wesley goes on.  
  
"And that would be?"  
  
"As you said, Cordelia's visions, while never false, are often not what they seem. It is possible that the scene she saw, you fighting against Buffy, is not what will actually happen, but rather an approximation. A metaphor."  
  
"For what?"  
  
"For you having to fight a Slayer to the death. A Slayer that is not necessarily Buffy."  
  
I fall silent. That is a possibility I had not considered. Could that be what is going to happen? If yes, how? And more importantly, who? Over the years Faith has become like a little sister to me and the thought of having to fight her... it hurts. It physically hurts.  
  
And Diana? It's strange that a girl I met only once should occupy so much of my thoughts. What if it's her? What if she is here as part of some kind of elaborate stratagem? A mole put into my home by our enemies, whoever they are. No, I can't quite believe that. Faith and Tara are both certain that she is a Slayer and when I touched her ... I felt many things, but no malice, no subterfuge.  
  
Still, it's not a possibility to be discarded without further investigation.  
  
"I assume you have already begun investigating Diana's past?"  
  
Wesley nods, rubbing his tired eyes. "One of Fred's assistants is on it. Preliminary research indicates she is who she says she is. Or rather who those social services people in the hospital told her she is. Her memory loss remains another mystery."  
  
"I want someone to keep an eye on her at all times. She could be a tremendous help to us, but if you are right and she is part of the vision..."  
  
I don't finish the sentence; I don't have to. Wesley and I have both been there the last time a Slayer changed sides. This time the stakes might be even higher. We can't afford any kind of slip-up.  
  
Wesley and I go on talking for some time, but it's just routine matters and I stop paying full attention, my thoughts once again moving along familiar paths. Buffy. Darla. Diana. I hope Wesley is right and Buffy's appearance in the vision is nothing but a misleading metaphor. I pray he is right.  
  
I can't afford feelings right now. Not for Buffy, not for Darla, not for this girl that has suddenly appeared in my life and managed to chase the chill from my bones for the briefest of moments with a simple handshake. I push them away into the darkness.  
  
I have a lot of practice doing that.  
  
  
  
TO BE CONTINUED 


	18. Pieces on a Board

AUTHOR'S NOTE: As several people have asked me this by now I want to make a brief statement regarding the absence of Spike in my story. Apparently some people missed the brief mention in the chapter "Wild Country", which told how Spike died saving the Scoobies from the zombie Willow raised in her botched attempt to resurrect Buffy. That is and will remain the sole appearance of Spike in this story (though he might be mentioned a few more times when I get around to the inconsistencies regarding his chip and the Initiative). My decision to leave him out of this story so completely is due to the fact that, after the last two seasons of Buffy, I find myself with such a violent dislike of the character (if one can even call him that after all the writers did with him) that there is no way I could in good conscience incorporate him into this story. So I decided to put an end to Spike at the point where he still had some semblance of character left (end of Season 5) and leave it at that. Sorry to all Spike fans, but that's the way it'll be in my little corner of the universe.  
  
#  
  
The Angel's Knight #18 - Pieces on a Board  
  
#  
  
Los Angeles, October 15, 2017  
  
#  
  
I look around the table with an amiable smile on my lips, my business spotless and without so much as a single wrinkle, and I know that some of the people present have to maintain rigid self-control to keep themselves from running in fear. It's interesting how a simple return from the dead can unnerve even the worst of men. Some of them probably suspect that things are not quite as they seem, but none of them would dare speak out loud.  
  
People who speak their mind usually don't last long at Wolfram & Hart.  
  
"I am glad to inform you," I tell the assembled employees, "that the day we have all been working for is just around the corner. The senior partners are very pleased with the job we have done and I can say with some confidence that all of you can look forward to quite a substantial bonus package."  
  
There are some smiles, some anticipation, but nervousness still holds sway and I can see some pearls of sweat here and there, glistening in the dimmed light. I always felt meetings like these should be held at night with dimmed lighting. Gives the whole thing the proper atmosphere.  
  
The people sitting here in this expensively furnished meeting room signed their souls away for money and prestige; working towards a goal they all believed - or fooled themselves into believing - would not be reached within their lifetime. Of course we left them that little fantasy. Working towards the apocalypse is easier when you believe it will happen after you're safely dead.  
  
"Within the next few days," I continue, "we will deal with the final preparation work. The main objective is to make sure that certain individuals you are all familiar with do not interfere with our business at this vital stage. As you know we have taken some measures to insure this already, but I want all of you on your toes. We are approaching the end zone, people! Let's make sure we don't stumble on the final leg of our journey."  
  
The meeting goes on for some more minutes and I give them the rest of my pep talk. Some more sports metaphors strewn in, more talk about bonuses and how great things will be once we have achieved our goal. Of course none of them know what the ultimate goal is. The end of the world? Yes, in a way. The complete subjugation of mankind? That will probably happen somewhere along the line. The fiery extinction of every living being on Earth? Certainly not.  
  
When the meeting ends they begin to file out of the room. Good little soldiers all. Their uniforms are thousand dollar business suits and their weapons are leather briefcases and endless stacks of paper. Some of the less informed might think it strange that we, of all people, would ever want anything to do with the law. Those are the ones that don't understand. The easiest way to win is to use the enemy's weapons against him.  
  
Lilah walks past me and I lay a hand on her shoulder, which causes her to flinch. The touch of a dead man is a scary thing for the living.  
  
"Lilah, a moment?"  
  
She smiles at me, only the barest of hesitation. "Certainly, Holland."  
  
Holland Manners, yes. That is my name, at least at present. Not my first, certainly not my last, but very convenient for the moment. I walk towards the nearby bar and fix us both a drink, knowing how uncomfortable Lilah is with being alone with me. Not that I can blame her. She saw me die, after all. She attended my funeral.  
  
She thinks I'm Holland Manners, returned from the dead. Naïve little girl.  
  
Lilah is one of those lucky few women who have aged well. Of course it helps that she has access to quite a few resources to help her with that, both magical and mundane. She does not look a day over thirty. She is also quite fascinating for less superficial reasons. There are very few people who manage to completely rid themselves of all morals while still retaining something of a human disposition. She is not evil as such, just one hundred percent pragmatic, willing to do whatever it takes to advance in the world.  
  
She has also managed to retain a healthy amount of fear and respect towards her superiors. Not that she has so much as a single clue as to who her superiors really are and what they want, but that's okay. Ignorance breeds fear. We like fear. It usually leads to good results.  
  
I hand her the drink. "How is our little last-minute distraction coming along?"  
  
"It is ready," she answers, now smiling confidently. "We will send her on her way the moment you give the word."  
  
"Good. The word will come sooner rather than later, I believe." I sip from my own drink. Holland preferred wine, I believe, but I like Scotch better. "Until then I want you to make sure that she enjoys all possible comforts. It wasn't easy bringing her here. Protect our investment."  
  
She nods, sipping from her own glass. I have no idea whether she likes Scotch, but I do know she would drink even the most vile of poisons if I told her to. Not because she is so loyal a soldier, no, but because she is fully aware of the consequences should she refuse me. And through it all her smile never slips.  
  
"I can guarantee you, the good Ms. Summers will want for nothing."  
  
"Very good. Now, if you will excuse me, I have another meeting coming up."  
  
Lilah seems relieved to be dismissed, but little to nothing shows on her face. She drains the last of her drink, sets the glass down, and walks out the meeting room at normal pace. Humans. How very much they value their facades. I wonder whether any of them have ever realized how much pain they could have spared each other over the centuries if only they would do away with all the deception and masks.  
  
"If they were that wise," a new voice catches my attention, "we might actually have to worry, wouldn't we?"  
  
I turn around and there is someone sitting at the meeting table, someone who wasn't there a minute ago. He resembles a man, short, overweight, dressed in clothes that went out of style decades ago. Only those with superhuman senses would realize that he emits neither scent nor warmth and does not cause so much as a ripple in the air around him. Keen observers might also notice the complete lack of a shadow.  
  
I smile, having expected his presence. Fixing two more drinks at the bar I walk over and take the seat beside him. Just to even things out I decide to cast a second shadow, one that does not look entirely human. He raises an eyebrow at that, but says nothing. The air around us grows noticeably darker. I like it better that way.  
  
"Will you ever stop using the guise of the dead?" he asks me, sipping his drink. "Doesn't that get boring after all this time?"  
  
"Not really, no," I tell him. "It is quite amazing, actually, how much people's attitudes toward you change when they think they are facing someone from beyond the pale."  
  
"Ah, yes. We remember that little elevator ride you gave our mutual friend Angel a few years back. Nice piece of work. You almost got him with that."  
  
I shrug, slouching in my chair in a way the cultivated gentleman I resemble would never have done. "Sadly, almost doesn't count. I gave a good showing, though, didn't I? He actually thought he was dealing with the late Holland Manners and riding an elevator down into Hell."  
  
I chuckle, remembering the look on Angel's face when the elevator doors opened and he found himself back where he started. I wonder whether he grasped the truth I showed him back then. I wonder whether he has accepted the fact that there is no such place as Hell. Never has been.  
  
Out of nowhere a chessboard appears on the table in front of us and my guest gently brushes his fingers over the pieces. Never quite got the hang of that game myself, but I am not surprised he likes it so much. Wouldn't be surprised if he had something to do with its invention, either.  
  
"We are almost sad this little game will end soon," he says mutters, fondly beholding the chess pieces.  
  
"It has been one of the most amusing ever, hasn't it?"  
  
"Indeed. You know, if it wasn't so important a matter, we would almost be tempted to draw it out a few more centuries, just for the fun of it."  
  
I know what he means. This world isn't the first one where we have played our little game, of course. There have been thousands before and no doubt there will be thousands after it. In the great scheme of things it does not mean much, really, but I can't help but feel a certain fondness for it. I just wonder whether the next world will be even remotely as amusing as this one.  
  
"I must say," I continue, "I really like what you did with that Slayer of yours."  
  
"Really?" He looks up, smiling.  
  
"Yes. A brilliant piece of work. That whole conversation among the clouds thing, that speech on how you are not allowed to interfere directly. Even I had a hard time telling the truths from the lies. I really liked it."  
  
"Thank you."  
  
"That bit at the end, though... I can't believe she fell for that whole 'you are not allowed to remember who you are' crap. I really thought you had pushed it too far with that."  
  
He shakes his head. "With some people it would not have worked, but with her..."  
  
"A really special girl, yes. I remember how much she whined about the rules and such. How she delighted in breaking them more often than not. You would think that would draw her over to our side. Well, it might still happen. You do know, of course, that bringing her back into the game this way might backfire on you, right?"  
  
Picking up one of the pieces - one that now looks very much like a blonde teenage girl with a stake in hand - he shrugs. "We do not enjoy inserting random elements of chance into the game, but there is a human saying that sums it up quite nicely: No risk, no gain. You should know that. Isn't that why you raised that thing in the wooden box? Darla?"  
  
He makes air quotes as he says the name and I can't help but chuckle. I never used to chuckle before coming to this world. Sometimes the players are influenced by those they play with. After all, what would a great mythical villain be without some kind of evil chuckle? I doubt all these amusing behavior patterns and fancies I have picked up over the eons will last long once the game is over. They never do. So I might as well enjoy them as long as I can.  
  
I sip the last of my drink as he stands up, putting on the hat that has been lying in the chair next to him. It fits with the rest of his clothes. You would think someone like him would always dress immaculately; crisp business suits with no wrinkle to be found and such. Kind of like me. Well, what I said earlier about using the enemy's weapon against him goes both ways, of course. We both like to pretend to be something we are not.  
  
"We can chat more later on," he tells me. "You no doubt have as much work left to be done before the game reaches its final round as we have, correct?"  
  
"Of course. It was nice of you to drop by."  
  
"The pleasure was ours. Oh, that reminds us, we've been dying to ask you one thing ever since we started this game, but somehow it never came up."  
  
"Well, you might not get another chance before this is over, so ask away!"  
  
"Why 'First Evil'? We have a hard time keeping a straight face every time we have to utter that name. Couldn't you have come up with something better than that?"  
  
I laugh. Talk about the pot calling the kettle black.  
  
"Yes, I can see your point. 'The Powers That Be' is so much more imaginative a name. I should probably forfeit the game before you blow me away through sheer originality."  
  
We both laugh. An observer would probably think we are the best of friends. Nothing could be further from the truth. Still, if you fight someone in a never-ending war for what boils down to complete control of all creation, you can't really help but get close to him.  
  
Or her. Or them. It's not like we are restricted to a single gender or form. Sometimes it's really difficult to keep all the personal pronouns straight.  
  
"It does make more sense than yours," he says once he has recovered from his laughing fit. "We are power and we exist. The Powers That Be. Logical. Precise."  
  
"And boring, yes. I know that is the kind of stuff that gets you off, my friend. Us, though, we like things a little more roundabout. Granted, we are not evil, if there is such a thing, but people often enough perceive us as such, so we might as well give them what they expect to see."  
  
"We should be going then." He gives me a mock bow. "Prepare to be blown away, 'Holland'."  
  
He does the air quotes again. There is something incredibly amusing in seeing the earthly manifestation of a primal force do air quotes.  
  
"Looking forward to it, 'Whistler'."  
  
A moment later he is gone. I walk toward the big window, looking out across the spectacle of nighttime Los Angeles. It's the early hours of the morning and the streets are almost empty, many of the lights extinguished. It looks so calm and peaceful. Orderly. Like nothing could ever disturb this picture of urban serenity.  
  
"Soon," I whisper to myself. "Soon it will be over."  
  
Figures take shape around me, guises I have used in the past, ones that I will use in the future. Names are whispered in voices belonging to other people, people who have died, and their voices are lanced with fear. The First Evil. The Senior Partners. Chaos. The Old Ones. Many people have had many names for me / us. Names have power. Names can mislead and distract. Names can cause such wonderful confusion.  
  
"It's the end of the world as we know it," one of my voices sings. "And I feel fine."  
  
TO BE CONTINUED 


	19. Dreams, Portents, and Visions

The Angel's Knight #19 - Dreams, Portents, and Visions  
  
#  
  
Los Angeles, October 15, 2017  
  
#  
  
This place has a kitchen big enough to feed an army. Well, from what I understand that might be exactly what it's for. Feeding an army composed mostly of former street kids who fight to rid the world of demons. Yeah, I kinda hoped it was a really silly dream, too, but I woke up, pinched myself a few times, and it still stayed real.  
  
Okay, so I'm standing in a big kitchen with at least a dozen separate fridges. Where are they keeping the good stuff? I could use something with an excessive amount of calories, right now. I haven't exactly eaten gourmet food ever since waking up in the hospital, but I do have the feeling I am something of a chocolate addict. At least I think that's what I'm craving right now. Some sandwiches would probably do it, too. With lots of cheese and salami.  
  
Checking the first fridge without much success (Bags of blood? Why would anyone keep bags of blood in their fridge?) my mind strays back to the nightmare that woke me up a few minutes ago. I don't remember much, but it can't have been cozy. I was drenched in sweat and the sheet was ripped in two. Well, considering the kind of day I had yesterday, I guess some nightmares were to be expected.  
  
I glance at the clocks hanging on the wall. Sun's due to rise any minute now. New day dawning and all that; maybe this one will be a little less strange than the last. Somehow I doubt it. The way my luck has been running I will probably find out my parents were really aliens from outer space and I'm here on Earth as the spearhead of an invasion. Or maybe I'm the lost princess of the underground kingdom of something-or-other.  
  
The second fridge holds nothing but yogurts, most of them appear to be of the diet kind. The only yogurt I remember eating was that stuff they gave me at the hospital. I hated it. Maybe I'll get luckier with the next fridge.  
  
My mind keeps straying to that Angel guy. Okay, so the most obvious reason for that would be his handsomeness, but somehow it's more than that. I remember that feeling as we touched hands, like a current running through my entire body. It's as if I remember that feeling from somewhere. As if I remember him from somewhere.  
  
The third fridge finally holds something that looks like a somewhat normal selection. There are several chocolate bars, as well as everything you need to fix yourself a good sandwich or ten. Managing to forget my deep thoughts for a while, I submerge myself in the art of sandwich making. Do people have to learn how to do that or is it something of a survival trait? Like genetic memory or something. See bread, butter, salami, and cheese, you know how to make a sandwich.  
  
I've finished my third sandwich when there is a noise behind me.  
  
"Is someone here?" a voice asks.  
  
I turn around to a truly strange sight. There is a ... person, I guess, standing in the kitchen. Hard to say, seeing as her entire body is covered by some kind of wide robe. Except the head, that is. That one's covered with some kind of shiny mask. Judging by the voice there is a woman somewhere in there, but you definitely can't tell from the looks of it.  
  
"Uh ... hi?" Not the most original of greetings, but I'm feeling kind of stumped right now. Not ideal conditions for originality.  
  
"Hello. Do I ... do I know you? I am sorry, but I can't really see you."  
  
"Oh, you ... sorry, I ... my name is Diana. I'm..."  
  
"Oh, so you are the girl that has this entire place in an uproar then. I should have known things would turn out weird when I saw you in that vision of mine."  
  
Okay, what? Vision? I'm beginning to suspect that I've just walked into a seriously insane person here. More insane than all the other things around here.  
  
"Excuse me?" I manage to ask.  
  
"Sorry, getting ahead of myself. I'm Cordelia. I'm ... well, I guess you could call me the resident wise woman or something. I get visions from the Powers That Be so Angel and the guys can predict where the next big evil will be coming from."  
  
Again, what?  
  
"I saw you in a vision two nights ago, just before you walked into Anne's shelter apparently. They said you would be coming here. Typically, they neglected the details, of course, such as you being a new Slayer, but that's the Powers for you. No regard for us poor mortals."  
  
She makes it sound like a joke, but there is bitterness in her voice. The robe around her constantly moves, almost as if she is extremely uncomfortable and fidgeting beneath it.  
  
"Would you mind grabbing me a yogurt from the fridge? It's the second from the left."  
  
I just nod, not sure what else to do right now. Get the masked robe lady a yogurt, why not? I just know I seriously jinxed myself earlier by merely entertaining the thought that this day could not get any stranger than the last. I did revise my opinion immediately, doesn't that give me some brownie points here?  
  
Masked robe lady, or Cordelia, has found a chair and sat down, though she seems even more uncomfortable now than she was earlier. I slowly put the yogurt down in front of her, somehow weary of touching her.  
  
A spoon. She's going to need a spoon if she wants to eat that yogurt. Okay, in a kitchen the size of a football stadium, where would one keep the spoons?  
  
"Spoons are in the big cupboard next to the door. Third drawer from the top."  
  
No, I'm not going to credit her knowing what I was looking for to some kind of spooky power. She probably figured that, me being a friendly person, I was going to get her a spoon and told me where to find them. That's all. I'm not going to start coming up with weird explanations for everything. Sometime things are just mundane and simple.  
  
At least I hope they sometimes are. My track record so far isn't very encouraging in that regard.  
  
I put the spoon down on top of the yogurt and mumble something along the lines of "dinner's ready". Cordelia's right hand finds it after a few tries, then pulls it directly in front of her as her right hand begins fiddling with something on her neck. A few moments later she takes off the shiny mask, carefully putting it on the chair besides her.  
  
Wow, she's ... well, I'm not sure what I expected, but certainly not someone who barely looks older than me. She's twenty at the utmost. But her voice sounded so ... not exactly old, but ... jaded? Like she's seen everything and still managed to keep some of her humor through it all. Long brown hair is sticking to her face in unruly looks and she brushes them back to begin eating her yogurt.  
  
Her eyes turn toward me and I can't stifle a gasp. They're completely blank. Milky white orbs with no pupils to be seen. She said she was blind, but seeing her eyes like this ... I really don't need this when I was just planning to eat some sandwiches and candy bars.  
  
"What do you think of our little madhouse so far?" Cordelia asks casually. "Met everyone yet?"  
  
"M-most of them, I guess," I mumble, not really sure how to make conversation with someone who is staring at me with huge, milky white eyes. "They seem ... nice."  
  
"Most of them are. Some of Gunn's kids can be jerks at times, but he usually whips them into shape pretty quickly. If Faith doesn't give them her patented death stare first. I had one of those once, but it's kinda hard now."  
  
She's making fun of it, but the humor doesn't quite reach her voice.  
  
"I really wanted to meet you yesterday," Cordelia continues between spoonfuls of yogurt, "but apparently the guys thought you had enough scares for one day without meeting me on top of everything else. You feeling a little better now?"  
  
"Maybe. I ... I'm not really sure. I managed to get some sleep, but I had some really weird dreams."  
  
She frowns. "Weird dreams? Hmm. I don't know whether Wesley or Faith got around to telling you that, but a Slayer's dreams are usually weird on purpose. Sometimes they even tell the future."  
  
I give her a look of disbelief and then realize she can't see it.  
  
"Now you're kidding me, right? I'm not even safe from the weirdness in my dreams?"  
  
"Does that really surprise you, kid? What did you dream about?"  
  
How does she get off calling me kid? She can't be more than two or three years older than me. Still, there is something about her that makes her seem older than she looks. Maybe it's the blindness? I don't think I ever met a blind person before, so it's hard to tell.  
  
"I don't actually remember," I finally say, mostly to break the silence. "Woke up drenched in sweat and in need of new bed sheets." I pause for a moment, considering what I just said. "Because I ripped them. Not because I ... you know."  
  
"I'll back you up on that, even if they question me under torture." Cordelia winks at me and I catch myself chuckling. God, I think I really needed a bit of a laugh, even if it was at my own expense.  
  
My thoughts turn back to that dream I had. I don't remember anything except a few flashing images, like stills from a movie. Maybe talking about them will help me make sense of them, even if the person I'm talking to is a total stranger and potentially insane.  
  
"I think I saw that guy I met last night, Angel."  
  
"You met Angel? What did you think of our fearless leader?"  
  
"Isn't he ... isn't he a little young to be the leader of all this? I mean he can't be more than..."  
  
Cordelia interrupts me by exploding into giggles. For a moment she even seems to forget her constant fidgeting.  
  
"What's so amusing?"  
  
"I ... I guess no one told you about Angel yet," she sputters between laughs. "Angel and young? Oh please!"  
  
"I ... what are you laughing about? Tara said he was special, but he can't be older than..."  
  
Cordelia calms down and manages to take some deep breaths again. "Angel is old enough to be your grandfather several times removed, Diana. He's really well-preserved."  
  
Suddenly things click together in my mind. His cold hands. That weird tingling. His comments on how 'his kind' can feel the Slayer's presence. The blood bags in the fridge. Oh my God!  
  
"He's ... he's a v-vampire?"  
  
"You figured that out a lot faster than some other Slayer I could name. Yes, Angel is a vampire. But don't worry; he's a very special kind of vampire. One of a kind, actually."  
  
"H-how?"  
  
"Long story short? Once upon a time he snacked on the wrong girl and was cursed with a soul. Basically he's a human guy who's stuck in the body of a vampire. And he remembers everything he did when he was a soulless bastard, too. So now he's helping the people he once killed and hunts down vampires and other demons."  
  
I am so jinxed! This day has barely even begun and already I'm being told stuff even weirder than everything I heard yesterday. A vampire with a soul? What's next? Werewolves as house pets? God, I should have just stayed in bed.  
  
"I ... I think I'll go," I tell Cordelia, looking for the door. "I need some more sleep." Where was the door in this giant kitchen?  
  
"I hope I didn't freak you out too bad. I just thought it would be better for you to know now rather than find out in the midst of..."  
  
Her voice suddenly trails off and I turn to look at her, just in time to see her convulsing. She slides off the stool and before I can think about it I'm there, trying to catch her. Her robe slips open and I catch a flash of nude skin, lots of nude skin, and then my hands are touching hers.  
  
The world vanishes in a flash of light.  
  
Next thing I know I'm looking down on some sort of ... I don't even know what to call it. A big ball of light, hovering in mid-air. I'm looking down as if from some great height and realize I'm standing on something that looks like a tower, for lack of a better word. It's a cobbled-together patchwork of steel and planks, looking as if it might collapse any second now. People are screaming around me.  
  
Something explodes forth from the glowing ball of light, a huge shape with leathery wings. A dragon? Okay, now I really have seen everything. The creature quickly vanishes over the horizon and I wonder whether it was ever really here at all. Maybe I'm imagining all this. Please let me be imagining all this!  
  
Someone else is up on the tower with me. I turn around and see two people standing there, neither of whom I've seen before. They're feeling familiar, though. One is a girl, no older than fifteen, dressed in some kind of gown. Tears are streaming down her face. The other is maybe five or six years older, dressed in more contemporary clothing, and she seems to be telling the girl something. I can't hear her over the roar of the energy ball.  
  
Suddenly the woman starts running, running right toward me. Is she crazy? I'm standing right at the edge of this cobbled-together platform and there is a big ball of energy beneath me. Is she trying to kill us both or...  
  
She barrels right through me as if I'm not even here and jumps, a beautiful swan dive that sends her tumbling down into the big ball of light. I turn around in time to see her hit it, her body swallowed up by the lightning.  
  
My perspective suddenly shifts and I seem to be hovering right beside the blonde woman as she falls through the light. I can see her face, contorted with pain, but there is also a strange look of peace in her eyes. As if she is accepting this, as if she wants this. It only last a heartbeat and then her body continues to fall towards the ground below. I don't even need to look to know that it's lifeless.  
  
The energy in front of me ripples and wavers. I squint and see that there is something still in there, something that wasn't there before. Among the glaring white light there is a ghostly shape now, almost like the outline of a person. A person that very much resembles the woman who just jumped to her death right before my eyes.  
  
"What the hell is going on here?" I wonder whether I really spoke these words out loud. And if I did, could anyone here hear me? I'm hovering in mid-air, something I'm pretty sure I can't do, so this is probably not real. Maybe if I just start ignoring it things will go back to normal?  
  
The ghost shape inside the ball of energy smiles broadly and the light around her seems to constrict, seems to collapse in on itself. I watch as the ghost wraps the light around herself like a coat, like a caterpillar weaving itself a cocoon. The ghost's smile grows even broader.  
  
A moment later the light fades and I find myself back in the huge kitchen, cradling a mostly nude woman in my arms. Her milky white eyes are looking up at me.  
  
"You were there, weren't you?" she asks me, wonder in her voice. "You saw it, too."  
  
"What? What did I just see?"  
  
She slowly gets up and I steady her until she is safely back on her feet. Reaching for the chair, she quickly slips the shiny mask back over her head, breathing a sigh of relief once it clicks shut.  
  
"Welcome to my world, Diana," she says sadly. "I got the feeling you are here for more reasons than us needing another Slayer."  
  
Somehow that does not make me feel any better.  
  
TO BE CONTINUED 


	20. Dreams of the Ripper

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Again many thanks to all the people reviewing this. To answer a few questions: Yes, Willow will make an appearance of sorts, but probably not in the way you'll expect. Will Diana ever remember being Buffy? We'll see. As to the point someone made about resurrection, I know it's been done to death. Speaking of death, though, remember what the PTB told Buffy in chapter 1? That death for her is not what it is for others? And we have also established that the PTB weren't entirely forthcoming about everything, didn't we? The point is, just keep reading. I've dropped a lot of clues so far and will drop more. I think you'll like how this all clears up in the end.  
  
Enjoy!  
  
#  
  
The Angel's Knight #20 - Dreams of the Ripper  
  
#  
  
Los Angeles, October 15, 2017  
  
#  
  
I haven't slept in over two days, yet I don't feel tired in the least. If anything I'm more awake than ever before. The thought of going to bed doesn't even enter my thoughts, which are surprisingly clear despite the lack of sleep. Too much to do, too many questions yet to be answered. In the course of two days my entire life has become unraveled and I need to find out the truth before I can allow myself to rest.  
  
Somehow early morning seems the wrong time for doing a spell like this, but the preparations took all that was left of the night and I haven't got the patience to wait until dusk. Not that it needs to be at night in order to work, but doing a necromantic ritual in daylight ... it goes against tradition. Well, bugger tradition. I need answers.  
  
Tara was kind enough to help me with the preparations and tired enough from an all-night research session with Wesley not to ask too many questions. It's been a while since I performed magics of this magnitude without anyone to back me up, but I have to do this alone. I am very much afraid of the answers I am currently seeking and the thought of anyone else learning them... no, I have to do this by myself.  
  
I pushed all the furniture aside in my living room, clearing a large enough space to paint a conjuring circle on the floor. It's goat's blood, which will probably leave a stain after I'm done. Well, seeing as Angel owns this building I doubt I will get into any trouble with the landlord. Not that I care right now. I would sprinkle every wall in this building with goat's blood if it brought me answers.  
  
The bones I brought back from England are in the center of the circle, arranged into the most life-like pose I could manage. The skeleton, which is definitely male, is almost whole, just a few finger bones and one foot is missing. A complete set would be better, but I wasn't exactly in the mood to search the entire junkyard for the missing parts and this should work as well.  
  
My eyes are drawn back to the large hole punched right through the center of the ribcage. I am no forensic scientist, but I know this was not done with a knife. Just one more clue that these cannot possibly be Randall's remains. But whose are they then? Do I really want to know the answer? No, definitely not. But I need to.  
  
I sit down beside the circle and pick up the book lying beside me. Necromantic magic is not something I am comfortable using. Playing around with the dead can have very ugly consequences. For the hundredth time my thoughts stray back sixteen years to Willow. I wasn't there to see her botched attempt to resurrect Buffy, but my imagination more than suffices to make up for that. The mere thought of my Slayer's remains being abused in that way...  
  
Shaking my head I wrench myself back into the present. I am not trying to raise a zombie here. Whoever this poor fellow is, his rest won't be disturbed. Well, not any further disturbed than it already is considering I dug up his bones.  
  
It is a well-known fact among practitioners of the art that, in the moment of death, tremendous power is released. That is why so many darker spells require a human sacrifice in order to work. This outburst of power also leaves behind an imprint. Sacrificial grounds, battlefields, places where many people have died are rife with these. A large portion of the power irradiates the remains, leaving an echo that can last for centuries and longer.  
  
That is what I hope to see here tonight. If I do this right the spell should unveil the final moments of this man, like an afterimage burned into his bones. I am treading into dark magic territory here, I know that, but I have no choice. I have to know who this man is and how he died. I just have to.  
  
Gathering my concentration I begin to read the spell. It's in English for once and I pronounce each word carefully, the slightest mistake could lead to grave consequences when dealing with this kind of magic. In the back of my head I can feel the prickle of gathering energy, magic hanging thick in the air around me. One of the reasons I seldom do magic anymore is because it always came so easily to me. Too easily. Magic is always tempting, the allure of circumventing the laws of nature always present.  
  
A crimson glow begins to surround the skeleton in the circle, slowly seeping upwards like water dripping the wrong way. A swirl of energy forms above the remains, growing larger as I approach the end of the spell.  
  
"Life's twilight moments," I pronounce the final words, "unveil thy secrets to me."  
  
Images begin to form in the crimson glow and I find myself drawn into them. The living room around me fades as a familiar setting takes its place. The abandoned junkyard outside London, our magical playing ground. It's night and the stars are hidden behind the clouds. I look around and see the same scene I saw in my memories but hours ago.  
  
The circle is closed and Randall is inside, his face distorted by Eyghon's demonic features. The creature mocks and laughs, telling us what it will do the moment it breaks free of the prison Ethan and I fashioned for him in a moment of desperation. Even in this afterimage I can feel the demon's power straining against the improvised magic. Soon he will be free and then there will be hell to pay.  
  
Everything plays out exactly like I remember it. The argument over what to do now. Our pathetic attempts at exorcism. Our cold realization that we are not going to save Randall, that we are not strong enough for that. We thought we were powerful, the next coming of Merlin or something, but now we know that we are nothing but amateurs dabbling in something we have no hope of controlling.  
  
I can see my own youthful face, see myself seemingly aging a decade as I come to the conclusion that Randall has to die. Only a living body can hold Eyghon indefinitely. Dead flesh disintegrates, leaving nothing for Eyghon to inhabit. The only way to get rid of him is to kill Randall.  
  
We almost throw down over this, Ethan and I screaming at each other. Logical arguments are quickly replaced by spiteful words and obscenities as we tear into each other the way only lovers can. Yes, I remember. But hours before we shagged and kissed as Eyghon's presence drove us into ecstasy. Now that is forgotten as we scream and yell and nearly go at it with our fists.  
  
Then the final tussle. The others holding Ethan back as I take the knife and step into the circle. It's weird seeing all this from the outside, but that's to be expected. The afterimages of death are not confined to the point of view of the dying person, it transcends all the senses. I see it all, every single moment. See myself plunge the knife into Randall's chest. See Eyghon strike back in retaliation before I can retreat behind the safety of the circle's boundary. See his claws slash deep into my chest. See myself stumble back as blood sprays from the gaping hole in my body.  
  
Numbness spreads through me as I simply watch myself dying. I have seen this before, but I still know that this can't have happened. How could I have forgotten receiving a wound like this? How could I possibly have survived it? Yet here it is. The bones of the dead don't lie. Eyghon gutted me and I am lying on the dirty ground, bleeding my life away.  
  
A shuddering breath escapes my younger version's mouth and I know he ... I ... he's dead. I feel incredibly cold.  
  
Ethan springs up, his eyes drowning in black as he gathers every single bit of magic hovering in the air to himself. I can feel him brimming with power, more power than he can possibly control, riding a high of demonic energy and the power released by my ... my death. Energy sparkles around his hands as he turns on Eyghon, the demon still laughing as his flesh begins to disintegrate around him.  
  
"A life for a life," I hear Eyghon say, chuckling. "And I will be back for all of you."  
  
"You took him from me," Ethan screams and power crackles around him. Eyghon's smile fails and there is the tiniest trace of fear on his inhuman face.  
  
"Little mage," he mocks, but his voice is less firm than it was. "You think you can harm me?"  
  
Ethan doesn't even hear his words. "Give him back!"  
  
I don't really have words to describe what happens next. The air shudders as all the magical energy Ethan has soaked up is released in one violent burst. I can hear Eyghon shriek, his voice still half that of Randall, and for a moment his body - his true appearance that we've only seen hinted so far - stands out starkly against a backdrop of pure white light. I can hear Ethan chanting, screaming. His hands are burning as he unleashes more power than his body can take.  
  
Everything happens at once. I can see Randall's body disintegrate, leaving nothing but a transparent image of Eyghon, no trace of humanity to be found in him. Energy lances through him and he screams. His outline shimmers and wavers as he is torn apart by unseen hands. His body blows wide open and something comes oozing out of it. Energy, but it looks like blood and guts as the demon is turned inside out and torn in two.  
  
The circle that has held Eyghon prisoner snaps and the energy spills out like water, flooding across the junkyard. Cars that have been long dead start up, engines roar and headlights flash. Huge mountains of rusted scrap metal tumble as their foundations are blasted out from underneath them by the unleashed power. I can see the others try and find some place to hide, but there is no such place.  
  
Eyghon, or what is left of him after half his being has been torn away, screams once more and then vanishes, but something stays behind. That part of his being, the energy that has been torn from him is still there, shimmering, rippling, almost as if it's in pain. Someone screams and I can't make out who. I see my own body, my dead body, and it is still and lifeless, dead eyes reflecting the light playing in the air around it. Ethan is still on his feet, but his eyes are glazed over and I can see that he is on the point of incoherence, his features warped by insanity.  
  
Then it all comes apart. In a final flash of light the tension snaps and moments later the darkness of night reclaims the junkyard, tinting everything black and gray. The only source of light left is the fire next to where the circle was and it's burning low. Bodies are everywhere and some of them are not moving.  
  
I quickly look around, trying to account for everyone. Randall is gone, no trace of him left, but everyone else is there. Including myself, lying still on the ground with a no longer bleeding wound where my heart should be.  
  
And one other who wasn't there before.  
  
It's a man, little doubt about that seeing as he's not wearing any clothes. He lies in the exact same spot where the circle was. Where Randall and Eyghon were. It's not Randall, though, that much I can see immediately. I know what Randall looks like naked and this is not him. He is familiar, though, and it takes my now completely numbed thoughts a few seconds to figure out why that is.  
  
It's been over forty years since I saw that body looking that way. And then only in the mirror.  
  
The young man who looks exactly like me rises to his feet, a confused expression on his face. He looks around, taking everything in, but there is no comprehension on his face. Everything is blank, almost like a newborn child. His eyes find the dead body on the floor, the one that looks like him, but there is no reaction, no recognition.  
  
"Ripper?" Ethan is back on his feet, a wild look on his eyes. He takes in the nude man, a grin of pure joy blooming on his face.  
  
My doppelganger just stares at him.  
  
"Oh my God," someone mutters. I see Deirdre, who is also back on her feet, look back and forth between the body on the floor and the standing doppelganger.  
  
"Ethan, what did you do?" That's Philip, looking as if he might faint any moment now.  
  
"It's Ripper," Ethan says, not even glancing at the body on the floor as he steps over it. "It's Rupert, don't you see? It's him."  
  
There is a ripple in the air and suddenly the blank face of my doppelganger fills up like an empty cup. Where there was nothing but emptiness moments ago there is now someone looking out from behind those eyes. Someone familiar.  
  
"Ethan?" he says, speaking slowly as if he has never used his voice before. Which he hasn't.  
  
"Yes, Rupert," Ethan says, grinning and laughing. "You're all right."  
  
"What happened? I don't..."  
  
"You bastard!" Ethan is suddenly tackled to the ground and I see Thomas pounding on him, his face a mask of violent rage. The others quickly move to separate them, but my attention strays back to my doppelganger.  
  
I look at him and the numbness around my thoughts slowly fades. I begin to understand what happened here, what happened to me. I should be screaming, denying, doing something to tell myself I am still sane, but I do none of these things. My mind keeps working, coldly putting the facts together until it arrives at the only solution that makes sense.  
  
This nude man standing there with confusion in his eyes is not my doppelganger. He can't be, because that would mean that body on the ground is me and that I am dead. I am not dead, though. I never had a demon tear my chest open and rip out my heart. I didn't die in a junkyard on a rainy night 42 years ago.  
  
But Rupert Giles did.  
TO BE CONTINUED 


	21. War Council

The Angel's Knight #21 - War Council  
  
#  
  
Los Angeles, October 15, 2017  
  
#  
  
I nodded off somewhere around four in the morning, I believe, shortly after Faith returned from her patrol. I don't think I am capable of going to sleep before knowing she is home safe. Maybe it's part of being a Watcher or maybe I just worry too much. She always tells me the latter, of course. Wes, she would say, get your English butt in bed and stop worrying. But there is a smile on her lips when she says it and I know she loves to see someone worried about her.  
  
By ten o'clock I was fully awake again due to Fred's insistent shaking. We had a meeting planned for eleven, hoping to put together some facts about Diana. Unfortunately the sudden appearance of a second Slayer has suddenly become a lesser priority. Not that our all-night research session brought any new facts to the table anyway, but even if it had, this is somewhat more important.  
  
Ten minutes after waking up we are gathered in the Hyperion's big conference room. We being Angel, Faith, Tara, Fred, Rupert, Graham, our current Initiative liaison, as well as myself. One of the monitors in front of us shows Riley's face, the commander of the Initiative joining us by way of videoconference. A glowing orb in front of Tara allows Maryke and her coven to partake in this discussion, the witches preferring a less high- tech approach to communications. Gunn is on his way here from the shelter and should arrive momentarily.  
  
For a moment we considered inviting our new Slayer to this meeting, but then decided against it. There is too much we still don't know about Diana. The possibility that she might be some sort of plant can't yet be discarded. If necessary we can fill her in later on.  
  
The monitor next to the one showing Riley is filled with static, but I can still make out the face of the person who called this emergency meeting.  
  
"Hi, guys," Xander greets us, the fakeness of that cheery greeting audible even through the static. "Miss me?"  
  
"Every second," Angel answers, barely a hint of sarcasm to be heard. "Fill us in, what's the emergency?"  
  
Xander's face is crusted with sand and there are dark rings beneath his eyes. I know he entered Sunnydale some time yesterday morning because of some dreams he had. None of us was exactly happy letting him go in there alone without backup, but Xander insisted. With all our current information indicating that the Hellmouth was all but dormant we finally agreed. Somehow I fear, though, that our information was not exactly accurate. At least judging by the look in his eyes.  
  
"It looks like the Hellmouth is up to its old tricks," he begins, running fingers through his sticky hair. "Sunnydale is packed, people, there are vampires and other creepy-crawlies everywhere. Hundreds of them. This magical Geiger crystal you gave me doesn't exactly come with a scale, but it went crazy in there."  
  
I look around the table and see quite a few worried glances. The last time the Hellmouth poured out this level of energy was when Willow attempted her doomed ritual. If not for one of Cordelia's visions we would have lost every last citizen of Sunnydale in that catastrophe.  
  
"Maryke," Angel says, his face showing nothing. "Could this be the center of that supernatural migration you picked up? Are all the demons heading towards Sunnydale?"  
  
The orb in Tara's hands pulses for a moment, then Maryke's voice hails from it. There is a faint image of her head floating inside the crystal depths.  
  
"I would say that is likely, Angel. Everything we know seems to indicate a westward movement. Even some members of our coven seem drawn somewhere, though none can explain why or where exactly they plan to go."  
  
"The Hellmouth has always attracted all sorts of supernatural entities. If it's become active again it's logical to assume it is what is drawing all these creatures and magically inclined people towards it."  
  
"There is something else, people," Xander calls from the screen. "I ... I'm not exactly sure what it is, but I picked up an old friend in Sunnydale who might be able to explain it a little better than I can."  
  
He moves out of the camera's field of vision, making room for someone else. A woman in her thirties, short blonde hair, her face every bit as dirty as Xanders. There is a haunted look in her eyes, almost a mirror image to Xander's.  
  
"Some of you might remember Amy Madison," Xander's voice explains from off- screen. "She went to school with Willow, Buffy, Cordelia, and me."  
  
Rupert, who has been silent and distracted all morning, looks up upon hearing that name and there is recognition in his eyes. Looks like he is the only one, though. The others, including myself, are looking somewhat clueless.  
  
"Hi, Mr. Giles," Amy says. "Sorry, I don't recognize any of the others."  
  
"Hello, Amy," Rupert greets her. "It's been a long time."  
  
There is something very strange about Rupert today, but I can't quite put my fingers on what it is. I know he returned home some time last night, returned by way of a teleportation spell he requested from Maryke's coven. I had planned to ask him about that, as these spells are quite tiring and cost a pretty penny. Tara told me she helped him with some kind of ritual involving some bones he brought back. He didn't tell her what he was up to, either.  
  
I shake my head. This is no time for such distractions. Rupert knows what he is doing and we have more important things to deal with.  
  
"What were you doing in Sunnydale, Amy?" Angel asks.  
  
"I ... I was looking for my mother, actually. Catherine Madison. I had dreams about her."  
  
Catherine Madison? I believe I remember reading about her in one of Rupert's diaries when I first came to Sunnydale as a Watcher. A witch, very powerful. I can't quite remember what happened to her.  
  
"We fought Amy's mother during Buffy's first year in Sunnydale," Xander explains. "She was trying to banish Amy, her own daughter, with some sort of spell, but Buffy caused it to backfire on her and she vanished."  
  
"I think I know now," Amy takes over again. "Xander and I met in the ruins of Sunnydale High. It seems to be the center of this demon gathering that is going on here. There is a group of humans there, dark witches as far as I can tell, and they are ... they are worshipping a statue of my mother."  
  
Before I can come up with any sort of theory on this Xander speaks once more. "It's not so much a statue, people, as a cheerleading trophy grown to better-than-human size. Amy believes that her mother is somehow trapped inside that statue."  
  
"I could feel her presence when we got close," Amy agrees. "It was ... not a good feeling."  
  
"Do you think this coven you have observed are trying to free her from her imprisonment?" I ask him.  
  
"Possibly. There is ... there is another possibility, though." Xander falls quiet for a long moment before speaking again. "You know I went here because I had dreams about Willow and she ... she is here. Or what's left of her."  
  
"What do you mean?" Angel asks, worry in his voice. He once considered Willow a good friend and, despite his rage over what she did to Buffy's remains and later to the entire town, I doubt he would want to see her hurt.  
  
Amy looks sideways, apparently at Xander, then back into the camera once more. "We found ... a body. It's draped over the statue of my mother like ... almost like it was crucified. We believe that it's ... it's Willow."  
  
Silence spreads through the room. Everyone here knew Willow, some better than others, and I doubt any of us here could help taking a liking to her. To this day I find it hard to believe that the shy redhead I first met in Sunnydale all these years ago could do all the things I know she did in that last year before the Hellmouth erupted.  
  
"Is she ... alive?" I hear myself asking.  
  
Xander still isn't saying anything, leaving it to Amy to explain things to us. "We couldn't get close enough to check. With the amount of magical energy in the air there I assume it could be possible, but ... but I hope she isn't. Her body, it's ... I can't describe it. If there is anything left of her in there I have no doubt she wishes she were dead."  
  
More silence, everyone is pondering Amy's words. Maybe this is God's way of showing us that even the purest and most innocent among us can fall from grace and nothing and no one is safe from being punished for their mistakes. I look up and share a brief look with Faith. Everyone here knows quite a bit about making mistakes that catch up with you, but the two of us, we did the catching up for each other.  
  
"Cordelia saw this," Angel suddenly says, breaking the silence. "She saw a golden statue, a cheerleader, with a body draped across it. She also saw people worshipping that statue."  
  
"She didn't happen to say what their plans are, did she?" Xander asks.  
  
"I think I know," Fred speaks up.  
  
"Fred?"  
  
"I was ... I spent most of the last few days studying up on the Hellmouth. I have quite a few theories on it, too many to go into right now, but I think ... in the 1930s the vampire Heinrich Nest tried to open the Hellmouth and got stuck in it. It was dormant then until he was ... well, unstuck. We know that Willow somehow tapped into the Hellmouth for whatever she planned to do and ... since then the Hellmouth has been dormant again, so ..."  
  
"My God," I mumble as I realize what she is saying.  
  
"You mean Willow is ...," Xander begins, but finds himself unable to finish the sentence. "God, please no!"  
  
"You realize what this means, right?" Faith asks after a minute or so. "With the hellish mojo levels on the rise again and these black guys running around ..."  
  
"They're trying to free Willow," Angel finishes, "and thereby open the Hellmouth."  
  
"And given the increasing energy levels in Sunnydale it looks like they're pretty close to succeeding."  
  
For a long moment no one dares voice the logical consequence of what we just said. The thing we are going to have to do in order to keep the world safe. Finally it's Angel, like always, who takes the burden onto himself.  
  
"We have to stop them from freeing her."  
  
Xander, his face visible on the screen again, seems to be on the verge of a violent protest, but then visibly deflates, looking incredibly tired and ten years older than the last time I saw him.  
  
"Angel, I ... I know we can't allow these guys to ... but it's Willow. If she's really stuck down there, if she's ... I mean, God alone knows what kind of pain she's in and ..."  
  
I turn to look at Fred. No one has studied the Hellmouth more closely than she has. She looks back at me and no doubts understands my silent question, my plea. There has to be a way. We always find a way, don't we?  
  
"There is no telling what kind of state Willow might be in," Fred finally speaks. "My theories regarding the Hellmouth ... let's just say it might not be exactly what we always thought it was. There might be a way of getting Willow out of there without causing all kinds of bad to go down, but it will take time and close study to find it."  
  
"I think we can agree," Angel looks at Xander, "that these black mages you saw are not interested in just safely extracting Willow from the Hellmouth and leaving it at that, can we?"  
  
Xander sighs. "Considering that they're hanging out with all the vamps and demons without becoming meals ... I kind of doubt that their motives are that pure."  
  
"Riley," Angel shifts his attention to the Initiative commander. "How soon can you have your people in position to go into Sunnydale?"  
  
"I can have a sizeable squadron there tonight, no problem."  
  
"Good. We have about 300 trained people here in Los Angeles and can probably gather another one or two hundred from the other cities close by." He gives me a questioning look and I nod in agreement. These numbers should be about correct. "We will meet at Xander's location at sunset."  
  
"We'll have dinner ready," Xander jokes half-heartedly. "Bring along the heavy artillery, though. There's enough creepy crawlies in there for everyone to have lots and lots of fun."  
  
"Wait a minute," Amy shoves him aside, looking into the camera again. "Aren't we forgetting something? How is my mother fitting into this thing? That's her statue we saw in there, remember?"  
  
Right! I almost forgot about that. If it's Willow that has somehow gotten herself imprisoned within the opening of the Hellmouth, how does Amy's mother's statue fit into all this?  
  
"Amy," Angel begins. "Once we have managed to take Sunnydale, we might find a way to free your mother as well, but ..."  
  
"Are you crazy?" she interrupts him. "The last time she was out she stole my body and tried to banish me into a statue. No way do I want her to be freed. My mother is a psycho."  
  
"Not to mention a powerful witch," Giles adds, still seeming very absent. "We should take precautions. I do not know whether Tara alone will be capable of handling Catherine Madison on top of everything else we will have to deal with magical-wise." He looks at the crystal in front of Tara. "Maryke, we will need you and your people there."  
  
I can see the hesitation on Maryke's face and understand it very well. We have had a long and beneficial working relationship with the New England coven. Their help has been invaluable more than once, but they are not warriors, never have been.  
  
"I can't promise anything, Mr. Giles," she finally says, "but I will try and gather a group of my sisters to aid you."  
  
"Thank you. Okay, people, you all know where we're going. We'll meet at sunset."  
  
Riley and Xander sign off, vanishing from the screens.  
  
"Talking about people we might need," Faith interjects. "What about the kid?"  
  
"Diana?" Angel looks uncertain. "I really don't know about this."  
  
"Having a second Slayer with us might make quite a difference," she reminds him.  
  
"It would also add another unknown to a very uncertain and volatile situation." I hate playing devil's advocate, but somebody always has to. "While I agree that the value of a Slayer can hardly be overemphasized..."  
  
"I think we should take her," Tara says. "I do not sense any deception in her. Also, I have something of a ... call it a hunch."  
  
"A hunch?" Faith asks.  
  
"Just a hunch. I think she could be ... meant to be there."  
  
Angel looks at her for a long moment. I know Diana's presence has him quite confused and not just because she might very well be part of all this, whatever it is. Tara saw something happen between them when they were together. A spark, she said. For the first time since Buffy's death Angel might be drawn out of his self-imposed emotional exile, which I can't help but consider a good thing. Still, Angel has never been very good when it came to handling his own emotions. Having Diana there as part of the battle might very well prove very distracting for him.  
  
"Tara, are you sure about this?" he finally asks.  
  
"Nothing is one hundred percent certain, Angel, but I think that, in this case, the potential gain outweighs the risk. I have a feeling we are going to need every help we can get in the upcoming battle."  
  
Angel hesitates for another moment, but then nods. "Very well, we'll take her with us. If we can convince her to go, that is. Considering that she has known about the existence of the supernatural for all of a day now she might be a bit reluctant to head straight into a big fight."  
  
"I think I can persuade her," Faith says with a wink. "Kid doesn't show it much, but I think she got a lot of spunk behind that girly facade. Kinda like ..." Her voice trails off, but we all know who she was thinking of.  
  
I have a feeling this is going to be a very long, hard day.  
  
TO BE CONTINUED 


	22. The Talk

The Angel's Knight #22 - The Talk  
  
#  
  
Los Angeles, October 15, 2017  
  
#  
  
Faith told me I could find Diana down in the basement, the training room to be precise. Not the big one we use for the combat classes, but the smaller, personal one. Faith and I have spent many an hour honing our skills in here, seeing as we both have trouble finding other sparring partners that can match our strength and speed.  
  
Apparently Faith rose early today, an amazing occurrence in itself, to train with Diana. When the meeting was called she left her down here, told her to train some by herself, try out a few of the weapons. Slayers, I know, have an instinctive knowledge when it comes to using weapons. Give them a few minutes of practice and they can expertly use just about anything from a crossbow to a rocket launcher.  
  
Memories again! I was going to stop that, wasn't I?  
  
Diana is standing in the middle of the room, her young face frozen in a mask of concentration. One of her hands gingerly holds a knife by the tip of the blade, her eyes are resting on the wooden target dummy in the corner. The air around her all but hums with her concentration.  
  
The tension snaps as she lets the knife fly, but it buries itself in the wall about an inch to the left of the dummy's head. Diana wrinkles her nose in frustration and she looks so incredibly cute doing it.  
  
I close my eyes, chasing those thoughts away. Get yourself together, Angel! You are nearly three centuries old. Someone your age should have his hormones under control.  
  
When I open my eyes again Diana is looking at me, her large brown eyes shimmering with conflicting emotions. I wonder what she sees when she looks at me. Faith told me that she figured out my being a vampire thanks to some clues dropped by Cordelia. Apparently Cordy told her the rest as well, though, seeing as she is not busy attacking me right now.  
  
What do I see when I look at her? A bundle of sensations that I thought forever buried somewhere deep inside my heart. Most of them are painful due to the memories they bring with them. I look at this girl and my mind brings me back to a sunlit day here in LA when I drove past a school building and saw the girl that was to become my destiny. Oh, if only I had known what kind of destiny it was to be.  
  
Sixteen years ago I started building a wall around my heart. No, that had actually begun much earlier, the day I realized that emotions like happiness and contentment were not for me, could never be for me. The day I finally understood why the Gypsies were so insane as to put an escape clause into my curse. I was supposed to know. I was supposed to be told that, should I ever overcome the guilt and remorse I felt for all that I did, then I would turn back into this creature I once was, the creature I hate more than anything in the world. The clause was meant to make me fear contentment. Make me afraid of happiness.  
  
Too bad Darla, Dru, and Spike killed them before they could tell me that.  
  
Sixteen years ago this wall, the one that would protect my heart from emotions and thereby the world from the consequences should I experience them, was finished. The death of the one person who could make me feel human was the final stone. Some nights my thoughts take perverse paths and I wonder whether I didn't do exactly the wrong thing. With Buffy gone the wall served no purpose anymore, did it? She was the only one who could possibly make me happy. With her dead I could let as many people inside as I wanted for none of them could possibly make me feel like she did. Instead the wall grew higher.  
  
I once told Buffy that I loved exactly one person in my entire life. That hasn't changed and it never will. Not even if some girl I have only just met seems to bring my dead heart back to life for the first time in nearly twenty years.  
  
"Angel?" she asks, looking up at me. God, even the way she speaks my name sparks memories I can't afford, memories I don't want. I'm not stupid, I recognize the similarities. A young girl, suddenly immersed in a world of demons and monsters, so innocent, and quite beautiful as well. And here I am, trying to help her through it. This is all too familiar and I don't want it to be. I can't allow it to be.  
  
"Hello, Diana," I greet her, walking down the last few steps. "I just wanted to talk to you for a few minutes. Is that all right?"  
  
"Sure!" She takes a step back, motioning at the room around her. "Be my guest. Or ... let me be your guest, seeing as this is your house, right? Mr. Pryce said that you own ..."  
  
"Yes, I do," I stop her ramble, once again fighting myself as I look at her.  
  
"Good! I ... I should probably thank you for taking me in, right? So ... thank you. And thank you for trying to help me figure out what happened to me. And thank you for ..."  
  
"There is no need to thank me, Diana," I interrupt her again. Ever since I came down those last few steps she has refused to meet my eyes and made a step back for every one that I took towards her. "And no need to be afraid of me, either."  
  
She finally looks up, her eyes so full of life, of emotions, that I feel the chill inside myself all the stronger in contrast. So much energy, so much life. All that I am thirsts for it, though for different reasons. I push it all back down into the dark, trying to concentrate on the reason I came down here for.  
  
"I... I'm not. Afraid of you, I mean. It's just..."  
  
"What?"  
  
She blinks and looks away, wringing her hands. "It's just... I know nothing about my life except what some social service file says about it. I'm told I'm some kind of mystical warrior against creatures that I didn't believe in less than two days ago. I'm doing stuff I'm pretty sure I shouldn't be able to do, not even if I spent the entire seventeen years of my life I don't remember training. And on top of it all..."  
  
Her voice trails off as she looks at me again.  
  
"On top of it all," she begins again, "I have the feeling there is more. That there is something else I should be doing. Something I should know, should remember, but I can't."  
  
I slowly move towards her again, the need to comfort her somehow almost overwhelming. At least she doesn't inch back from me this time, but I can see it's an effort for her. She's immersed in a world she doesn't understand and every instinct within her is probably screaming right now to either stake me or run away. She does neither, just looks at me.  
  
"I think there is a reason you are here," I say, looking back at her. "Something big is about to happen. None of us is quite sure what it is, but I do know that we are going to need all the help we can get."  
  
"Help? You mean..."  
  
"I refuse to believe that a new Slayer just happened to be called by accident, Diana. There is a purpose to it all, even if sometimes it's almost impossible to believe. I think you are here because we need you."  
  
The smallest of smiles plays across her lips. It's incredible how often people just need to hear these three little words to feel better. We need you. It's what brought Faith back into the fight on our side. We needed her. It's what brought me out of a century of depression. Buffy needed me. Maybe it's a flaw that we have this desperate need to be needed, but I like to think of it as a sign that human beings can, in fact, be good. Many years ago someone tried to tell me that all people were evil, but I don't believe that. Not when I look into the eyes of this girl before me.  
  
"Can I ... ask you something?" Diana says after a moment, her smile vanishing again.  
  
"Sure."  
  
"I ... earlier today I met Cordelia and something ... something strange happened."  
  
Her meeting Cordelia was something I would have liked to avoid for some more time. This poor girl has had enough to worry about without learning that someone foresaw her coming. Then again, maybe that actually helped. Maybe knowing that she destined to be here helps her make a little more sense of the world.  
  
"What happened?" I ask her.  
  
"She ... she had one of her visions and ... and I touched her. And suddenly I was inside this ... vision thing. I saw everything she saw and ..."  
  
She hesitates a long moment, giving me time to process her words. She shared Cordelia's visions? I don't think this has ever happened before. It's not like none of us ever touched Cordelia when she collapsed from having a message from the Powers sent into her brain. Could it be because she is a Slayer? No. I distinctly remember that Faith caught her a few times when the visions overcame her and she never said anything about sharing it, either.  
  
"I saw a girl," Diana continues. "Cordelia said her name was Buffy."  
  
What? "You ... you saw ..." I can't put the sentence together. She saw Buffy? Why would she see Buffy? Why would she share a vision with Cordelia that showed Buffy of all people?  
  
"Cordelia said I should talk to you about her," Diana continued, clearly trying to get all the words out before her courage fails her. "She said you ... that you would want to know what she saw and that ... that she felt I should be the one to tell you. Not sure why, but that's what she said."  
  
Some days I do not know why I haven't killed or fired Cordelia a long time ago.  
  
"What did you see?" I finally ask, deciding to get this over with as fast as possible.  
  
And she tells me. Describes the scene I have seen in my mind's eye a thousand times every single night since it happened. Buffy jumping off the tower, diving head-first into the dimensional tear in order to save the world. The night I should have been there, but wasn't. The night I failed her. The Oracles once told me that Buffy would die unless I was by her side and they were right. I should have been there.  
  
Diana stops and I realize she must have seen the tear I feel trailing down my cheek.  
  
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to ..."  
  
"It's okay," I tell her. "Not your fault."  
  
She looks at me for a long moment. "Who was she to you?"  
  
And I don't know why, but I find myself answering her question. "She was the light of my life. The only person who ... when I was with her I could believe that I was something else. Something better. Not just a monster."  
  
Why am I telling her this? I don't even know her and she doesn't know me. This is definitely not the time to create some kind of connection with some girl that appeared in my life out of nowhere. It's not right.  
  
"Well," she suddenly says, smiling again. "I can't really say for myself, but ... after hearing what all the other people here have to say about you, I really don't think you are a monster. The way they all talk about you ... I think you're a really good guy."  
  
I can't help but smile in return. "Thanks."  
  
There is something of an awkward silence between us before she speaks again.  
  
"Why ... why do you think these ... Powers wanted me to see this?"  
  
I wish I knew, Diana. I wish I knew. The things she saw at the end, Buffy's body falling to the ground but some part of her remaining behind in the swirl of energy ... I don't know what to think about this. Especially after what Maryke told me, after Cordy's vision that said Buffy would be there to fight against me in the battle to come.  
  
I remember how, after learning about her death, I was in a state of denial. I couldn't accept that she was really gone. Hadn't I sacrificed my humanity to keep her safe? The concept of a world without her in it was too much for me to handle. It took me months to accept that she was really gone, that she was dead and would never return to me.  
  
Now, for the first time in sixteen years, another notion enters my mind.  
  
Buffy didn't die under even remotely normal circumstances. She died by diving into a swirl of energy, a rend in the dimensional walls. Glory, a god, wanted to use this portal to return home. Instead Buffy closed it, closed it by sacrificing herself. Her body was there, lifeless.  
  
But what if that was the only thing that died there? Her body. What if some part of her survived, was somehow preserved by that strange energy Glory called into being that day. What if she never reached the heaven I always knew she had a place in?  
  
What if Buffy never really died?  
  
TO BE CONTINUED 


	23. Revelations

The Angel's Knight #23 - Revelations  
  
#  
  
"Are they gone?"  
  
I am not particularly surprised that Cordelia notices my presence the moment I come in. Blind she may be due to the increasingly violent nature of her visions, but sometimes it seems as if she has been given other senses to compensate. Or maybe she simply foresaw my coming to visit her. Everything is possible. If I never believed that before I certainly do now.  
  
"Most of them, yes," I answer. "Some of the children are still here, but pretty much everyone who can fight has gone with the others to Sunnydale."  
  
"You haven't."  
  
"I couldn't. Not until I have some answers."  
  
She nods, patting the bed beside her in invitation. I move towards her, at the same time eager and reluctant. I need these answers, yet I am scared of them as well. I have tried to come up with explanations on my own and I liked none of them.  
  
"You want to know who and what you are," Cordelia states.  
  
"I assume you saw everything I learned?"  
  
"Duh! Seeing as I've already lived through most parts of your life, does that really come as a surprise to you, Giles?"  
  
I close my eyes, taking a deep breath. "I am not Rupert Giles."  
  
"Well, to me you are. Just because you are not the first man carrying that name doesn't mean..."  
  
I jump off the bed, her nonchalance too much for me to take in right now.  
  
"I didn't exist until that night, Cordelia," I yell at her. "The real Rupert Giles died and I ... Ethan did something and ... if you have all the answers, then tell me! Who am I? What am I?"  
  
She just looks at me and I wish she wouldn't wear that bloody mask Tara and I made for her. I want to see her eyes, even if they are nothing but milky- white emptiness. I want to see her face in order to read what she knows about this, about me.  
  
"I'm sorry, Giles," she whispers. "I can't imagine how hard this must be for you, even though I've seen everything you went through these last two days. I'm sorry, but please remember! No matter what happened that night in London, you are still the same man who was with us in Sunnydale. The same man who helped save the world more times than I can count."  
  
I'm too agitated to appreciate her words. "What am I, Cordelia? Tell me!"  
  
She sighs deeply, drawing her knees to her chest in obvious discomfort.  
  
"You are Eyghon," she finally says.  
  
For the next minute or so I can do nothing but stare at her. What did she just say? I must have heard her wrong.  
  
"You are talking nonsense."  
  
"I am not, Giles. I saw it happen."  
  
"Saw what happen? I tell you what I saw happen! Eyghon was destroyed! More than twenty years after that night in London! Angel tricked him into jumping into his body and Eyghon was destroyed by the presence of Angel's own demon. There is nothing left of him! Nothing at all!"  
  
She shakes her head and I realize that my fists are clenched. My breathing is labored and I'm filled with the urge to hit something. Anything.  
  
"The thing that was destroyed in Sunnydale all these years ago was the leftovers, Giles. Those parts of Eyghon that got away from his encounter with Ethan in London. You saw it yourself! Ethan, crazed and insane with power, ripped Eyghon in two. One part got away, crippled and more than a little insane itself, and returned in order to get back at you more than two decades later. The rest..."  
  
Her voice trails off and I walk away from her, aimlessly circling around the room. This can't be true. None of this can be true. I need to approach this rationally! I'm a Watcher, damn it! I'm supposed to figure out things like this. There has to be some kind of rational explanation for all this.  
  
"Explain to me how this is supposed to be possible, Cordelia!" I look at her again. "Ethan was barely more than a gifted amateur back then. We ... they all were. How is it possible that someone like him was able to ... to tear a demon in half and remake one part of it into a copy of a dead man? Eyghon was powerful. Ancient. We were just children. Explain to me how this is supposed to be possible!"  
  
"I don't know, Giles," she admits. "I haven't seen..."  
  
"I believe I can explain that to you," a new voice intrudes, cutting off Cordelia mid-sentence.  
  
I whirl around to face the two newcomers who somehow entered the room without either Cordelia or myself noticing. The one who has spoken is but a girl, blonde and with a presence that belies her apparent age. The air seems to waver around her, almost as if reality itself is uncertain what to make of her. The other woman looks almost identical to her, just a few years older. Mid-twenties maybe. There is something familiar about her. Have I met her before somewhere?  
  
"Who are you?" I ask, hearing Cordelia mumble something like "Oh my God" under her breath at the same time.  
  
"We've never met, Mr. Giles," the girl says, smiling at me. "But I believe you had a brief encounter with my mother some years ago."  
  
Her mother? The woman beside her seems barely old enough to...  
  
"We never met face to face, Mr. Giles," the older woman says, "but we do have some common ... well, friends would be the wrong word."  
  
And suddenly I remember. Her face didn't spark the memory, since I've only seen it once, from afar, in a dark nightclub and distorted by the demonic features of a vampire. Her voice, though, her voice is not something I'm going to forget. Soft like silk, sultry, yet with the barest whiff of innocence. I remember that voice from that night long ago. At the time it threatened the life of my Slayer.  
  
"Darla," I whisper, a cold chill creeping up my spine. I remember Angel telling me that she was somehow resurrected after that night where he killed her to save Buffy. He didn't say much about it, the episode was too painful and personal for him. I never spend much thought on it myself. Maybe that's a mistake that is about to haunt me.  
  
"You have nothing to fear from her," the girl tells me. "I know my mother's reputation precedes her, but..."  
  
"You are that girl," Cordelia suddenly says. "That girl I saw in my vision. You and Darla. I saw that you were coming."  
  
It only just registers that this girl called Darla her mother. Her mother? I've never heard a vampire refer to her Sire as 'mother'. Except maybe Drusilla, but she was mad as a hatter. And ... that girl is not a vampire, is she? Over the years I've developed a certain instinct when it comes to vampires and somehow I think ... no, I know that this girl is not a vampire. She's alive. But how...?  
  
"I know you have many questions," the girl says, still smiling. "I wish we had time to answer them all. I wish I knew the answers to them all. I do have some answers for you, Mr. Giles. If you are willing to listen."  
  
I consider the situation. I don't know about this girl, but Darla is one of the most powerful vampires on the face of the planet. If she wanted to kill us I doubt we would still be alive. I don't know how she could even get in here. Tara cast a spell over this building years ago, preventing all vampires except Angel from entering.  
  
So, seeing as we're not dead yet, we might as well listen.  
  
"Go on," I tell her.  
  
"Cordelia was right," she began. "You began your existence as Eyghon, a demon. When the first Rupert Giles died ..."  
  
"The first?"  
  
"Yes, the first. I am trying to make you understand what happened, Mr. Giles. It has a lot to do with the nature of magic. The true nature, I might add, which only a handful of people have ever managed to figure out. Your friend Fred is very close to the truth, as are some others. They are about to lift the veil of ignorance that has been cast over all of you."  
  
"I don't understand."  
  
"Let me try to explain. You are right, of course. A group of young amateur sorcerers could not possibly be capable of bending an ancient, powerful demon to their will, much less recreate it into a man. That is what happened, though. So tell me, Mr. Giles, what is the logical conclusion?"  
  
I stare at this girl who talks with the voice of a scholar and I find that my logic has quite thoroughly abandoned me. I can only shake my head in ignorance.  
  
"How did your friends first learn about Eyghon, Mr. Giles?" she continues. "Ethan and the first Rupert Giles found some ancient books, they read a legend about a demon called the sleepwalker, and you conjured magical power in order to summon this demon."  
  
I nod. Some parts of my ... of Rupert Giles' past may be hazy, but I remember that much.  
  
"But what if that demon never existed in the first place? What if that ancient book they read was nothing but a fairy tale, written down by some superstitious fools long ago?"  
  
"What are you talking about? Eyghon was real! Very real!"  
  
She nods. "Yes. Because Ethan and the others made him so."  
  
I hear Cordelia gasp behind me as another vision floods into her mind.  
  
"They gave it flesh," she whispers. "They made myth into reality."  
  
"Magic is based in quantum theory, Mr. Giles," the child continues. "If enough people believe in something, then it becomes real. Sometimes it doesn't even take a lot of people. Six people could be enough if they were strong and dedicated, dabbling in magic already."  
  
I try to make sense of everything I'm hearing, but failing miserably. Myth made flesh? A demon created from the belief of six foolish youths? I don't understand.  
  
"Ethan and the others created you that night, Mr. Giles. At first they told you that you were Eyghon, and so you were Eyghon. You could not help but be Eyghon. You did what they expected Eyghon to do."  
  
I look down at my hands as flashes of memory fill my vision. That night again, but I see it from another perspective. I'm standing inside the conjuring circle and I feel my hand, my clawed hand, sink into the soft flesh of a human being. A human with my face. Rupert Giles. I'm killing Rupert Giles even as he kills my host.  
  
"And then, when Ethan was overcome with grief and madness, he wanted Eyghon gone. So Eyghon disappeared. Not completely, no. He was real now, to a certain extent, and was not so easily vanquished. The important thing is, though, that the largest part of this creature that thought it was a demon was left behind and reshaped into something else."  
  
I remember. A body that looks like Rupert Giles, but empty. Eyes looking out into the world without so much as a spark of recognition. An empty shell waiting for ... something.  
  
"Do you remember?" the child asks. "You were remade into a man, but you didn't know what kind of man you were supposed to be. Then Ethan called you Rupert. He gave you a name. And so, naturally, you became Rupert. You could not be anything else but Rupert."  
  
"But Ethan was already half-mad," Cordelia suddenly interjects, "so he couldn't finish the job. I'm right, ain't I? That's why there are all these quirks and mess-ups in Giles' memory, right?"  
  
"Ethan lost his mind that night. On some level he knew what he had done and it led him down a route into madness. He knew that he had somehow recreated his friend and lover from nothingness and his mind couldn't take it. He started worshipping Chaos later on because that way he didn't need to make sense of any of it."  
  
"But ... but the others ..."  
  
"Denial, Mr. Giles. I believe you've seen that particular kind of magic at work more than once, haven't you? They helped bury the body of the first Rupert Giles, but a few nights later they had all managed to convince themselves that it had been Randall. After all, you were still there, weren't you? So clearly you couldn't have died.  
  
"Unfortunately that left you at something of a loss, didn't it? Your sense of self was incomplete. You knew you were Rupert Giles, but you had no clear idea who Rupert Giles was supposed to be. The others avoided you, unconsciously knowing that you were something new and strange, so they couldn't help you with that. When your group disbanded after that night you went back to the people you remembered to be your parents and they told you to be a Watcher. So naturally you became a Watcher, even though that was something the old Rupert Giles never wanted to be."  
  
This can't be true, can it? Is that what I am? Some kind of incomplete creature that took bits and pieces of self-definition wherever it could find them? Watcher because my parents said so? Tweed-clad British twit because that was what Buffy and her friends expected me to be?  
  
I remember when Olivia first visited me in Sunnydale. She arrived and called me Ripper and it was so easy to fall back into the old behavior patterns. With her I could be Ripper, confident and at ease. Only because that was what she expected me to be?  
  
When Wesley came to relieve me as Watcher he expected to find a Watcher gone rogue and suddenly I was a different man. One that could sword-fight, who kept his cool in any given situation, who had no regard for the rules whatsoever.  
  
Good Lord, this can't be true! It simply can't be.  
  
"I know it's difficult, Mr. Giles," Darla says, abandoning the silence she kept until now. "Finding out that you are something different from what you always thought you were. Believe me, once you simply accept it, things get easier."  
  
"What would you know about that?" Cordelia sneers at her. If I wasn't somewhat preoccupied I might have reminded her that it was a bad idea to antagonize a vampire strong enough to rip us both limb from limb without even trying.  
  
"You said you saw me in your visions, didn't you?" Darla asks instead, amazingly calm. "Did you by any chance see some unusual things?"  
  
Cordelia hesitates for a long moment. "I ... I saw you walking in daylight."  
  
"And vampires can't do that, can they? Just as ancient powerful demons can't be remade into human beings."  
  
I stare at her, her words clicking together in my head. I never understood how Wolfram & Hart could possibly resurrect a vampire that had been reduced to ashes. I spent many an hour going over those scrolls they used in order to find out how they did it, but without success.  
  
"You ...," I begin, unable to form a complete sentence.  
  
"I was born in a box, Mr. Giles. The people outside told me that I was someone called Darla, a vampire brought back human. They were a lot more persuasive than your old friend Ethan Rayne could ever hope to be. I didn't lack any self-definition. I became Darla and, no matter the complete impossibility of it all, I never doubted my own identity for even a second."  
  
"What changed?" Cordelia asks, her voice clearly showing that she is not quite a believer yet. And me? I'm not sure what to believe anymore. Just because an explanation does seem to make sense doesn't mean it's true, is it? Darla is a known enemy and the girl, we know nothing about her.  
  
"Some things happened to me," Darla explains, "that didn't quite go together with me being a vampire. Vampires can't get pregnant for one thing, can they?"  
  
She looks at the girl beside her and her eyes hold such obvious and honest affection that I find myself tempted to believe her. A vampire can't feel things like love, can it? Angel being the notable exception.  
  
"You mean you are really her daughter?" I ask the girl. "How is that possible? And how is it you presume to know all these things?"  
  
"It's a long story, Mr. Giles, one I'll be glad to share with you. All of you. I doubt we have time to tell it more than once. I would very much like for everyone to be there to hear it. Especially my father."  
  
Her father? Who is ... oh my God. I remember what little Angel told me about his final encounter with Darla. He was trying to lose his soul, so he ... but that's impossible. Vampires can't ... well, if Darla isn't, but ... Angel is still a vampire. His seed is dead. He can't possibly have ...  
  
"Angel is the father," Darla puts an end to my racing thoughts. "Impossible, I know. I haven't heard the full story on that one yet, either. Just look at her eyes, Mr. Giles. I believe they will answer all your questions."  
  
Her eyes. They seemed so familiar before. Now, taking a closer look, I understand why. I have seen these eyes before. I have seen them look empty and cruel, I've seen them look full of remorse and guilt. I've seen them sparkle when Buffy was there and I've seen them filled with tears after she died.  
  
My God! It's really true, isn't it?  
  
"So ...," Cordelia says after some uncomfortable silence. "You want to go to after Angel and the others?" Wisely she chooses not to reveal where they have gone.  
  
"We have to go to Sunnydale, yes," the girl says. "You three will come with us."  
  
"Three?" I look around, but there is just Cordelia and me. For a moment I consider the possibility that this child is mad. Oh please, let her be mad!  
  
"Yes, Mr. Giles. If you look carefully into the corner to your right you will see that one more person is here in this room. Has been here for some time, actually. You just haven't noticed her yet."  
  
I look at the corner she indicated, but there is nothing there except shadows and ... no, something is there. It's almost as if ... how come I didn't see ... don't I know this girl? Oh my God.  
  
"Dawn?"  
  
TO BE CONTINUED 


	24. Battle Plans

The Angel's Knight #24 - Battle Plans  
  
#  
  
110 miles north of Los Angeles, October 15, 2017  
  
#  
  
While we were in the steam room together Faith said something along the lines of life sometimes being like a roller coaster. You can't steer, you can't stop, you can only hold on for dear life and see where it takes you. That's pretty much the way my life has been these last two days and the roller coaster doesn't seem likely to slow down anytime soon.  
  
Strangely enough a part of me feels completely at ease with this. Well, not completely. There are way too many people here. Somehow I get the feeling that I was never around so many people before, or at least so many people that were all united by a single goal. A true army, even though only about a third of them actually look the part.  
  
We arrived here in a virtual caravan of cars, mostly minivans and SUVs, though a few more battered cars that looked like they just hailed from some ghetto street corner were also there. Angel's people from LA, nearly 300 in number, don't wear uniforms, but there is something of a uniform look to them if you gaze into their eyes. Determination, resolve. I have no doubt these people will do their best.  
  
On the highway we met more cars, coming from the other direction. People from the Angel Foundation offices in San Francisco and Seattle, or so Faith told me, another hundred or so fighters ready to kick demon ass.  
  
When we left the highway I saw an old traffic sign. It named several towns you could reach by going off here; none of the names meant anything to me. At the bottom of the short list, though, there was a name nearly unreadable, worn away by something that had left the other names untouched. I'm not sure how I knew this - you couldn't really read it anymore - but the name said 'Sunnydale'. And somehow that name seemed incredibly familiar.  
  
Some side roads later, roads that I didn't even see until we were on them, we arrived at what was quite obviously the meeting place. Evident by the presence of quite a few military vehicles and about 200 guys in fatigues, armed to the teeth. The sun sank below the horizon almost the second we came to a stop, allowing Angel to get out of his sun-screened car to greet some people. I quickly lost sight of him among the crowd.  
  
Right now I'm standing right in the middle of all these men and women, all of them grim and determined, and I think I should be shaking with nervousness and fear. This is so over my head, all of this. Yet somehow it isn't. I can't quite put my finger on it. There is this feeling that I should be here. No, more than that. A feeling like I should be in charge, telling people what to do and lead the fight against demons. Which is ridiculous, of course. A seventeen-year-old girl leading a charge against demons. Maybe it's a Slayer thing. Or I'm finally going mad. Took me long enough.  
  
"Kid, over here!" I look behind me and see Faith calling out to me. I smile involuntarily. It's a nice feeling to have someone look out for me this way. I don't remember having a mother and Faith certainly doesn't behave like one, but still ... okay, some part of me feels incredibly strange thinking that way about Faith. Almost as if things should be the other way around, me looking out for her. Which is ridiculous. Again.  
  
Faith is standing amidst a small crowd of people grouped around a table, several maps spread out on it. I know most of the people there. Angel, Mr. Pryce, Tara, Gunn, this Graham guy Faith calls 'Buzzcut'. Some strangers are among them, though. Or I think they are strangers. There is something familiar about all of them.  
  
"Time for introductions," Faith says, putting her arm around my shoulder. "Diana, these are, in order, Riley Finn, commander of the army guys, Amy Madison, a witch we know from Sunnydale, and finally Xander Harris, founding member of the original demon hunting posse back in the day. Guys, this is Diana Knight, our brand-new Slayer."  
  
I look at the people she just introduced. Finn is a tall guy, taller even than Angel, and looks like he came right of a recruitment poster. I'd say he's in his early forties, but you can only tell by some lines around his eyes. He looks spry and tough, the muscles under his shirt the kind you don't get from working out in a fitness studio. And how do I know about different kinds of muscles anyway? Things are just getting weirder and weirder.  
  
Looking at him somehow fills me with some kind of resentment I can't quite explain, so after shaking his hand I look at the woman next to him. Amy Madison, Faith said. She's about Faith's age, but there is something of a ... tired look about her. Like something she went through left her drained and she never quite recovered from it.  
  
The third guy, Xander Harris, gives me a big smile as he shakes my hand and somehow looking at him makes me feel a lot better. He's about Faith's age as well, but at the same time it wouldn't be too hard picturing him walking the halls of a high school somewhere. His dark hair is tussled and laced with dirt and his eyes look haunted, but underneath all that there is some sort of inextinguishable humor, like a permanent grin that, though sometimes hidden, never goes away.  
  
"Another Slayer, eh?" Harris says, still smiling. "Looks like the Powers finally decided to give us a helper for once."  
  
"Glad to have you on board, Diana," Finn adds, his smile looking somewhat artificial, though. "We can certainly need an additional Slayer, considering what we'll be going up against."  
  
He nods towards the maps on the table and apparently that is some kind of cue for Harris. His smile fades and he suddenly looks all business, almost like a soldier himself.  
  
"We shouldn't have too many problems as far as static obstacles are concerned," he begins. "Not much left of the buildings or anything else for that matter. It's only in the immediate vicinity of the old high school grounds that things start getting messy. But we'll have to abandon the vehicles there anyway thanks to the no-tech whammy going on."  
  
I just listen as he tells us what's going on behind that nearly static dome of dust that rises just about a mile in front of us. I don't think I've ever seen anything look this eerie before. Anyway, apparently there are a lot more creepy things inside. Vampires. Demons. Guys in black robes. Mantises, whatever those are.  
  
"Our main objective is to disrupt the ceremony," Angel says, taking charge of the planning. "If at all possible I would like us to capture that statue. We don't know whether it's possible to take it away from there. If it isn't, Tara will set up a containment spell around it. We will need to buy her time for that."  
  
I look at Tara, who is standing some feet away, deep in conversation with some other witches. Apparently they belong to some sort of coven that has been helping Angel and his people for some time and teleported here from New England. You know, I'm rapidly getting used to all this strange stuff. I said teleported without cringing about the bizarreness of it all.  
  
Harris talks some more about what they saw and I get the gist. Apparently some witch called Willow attempted something or other and got herself stuck in something called the Hellmouth. Opening that up would be a major bad, so we have to stop these black robe bad guys from freeing her. Again, all this sounds incredibly familiar, as if I've gone through something like that before.  
  
"What about this Willow woman?" I suddenly hear myself asking. "We can't just leave her ... stuck, can we?"  
  
Everyone looks at me and I feel about half an inch tall. These are pros; they have been doing this for years. I've slayed exactly one vampire so far and didn't have a clue what I was doing while doing it. I don't look away, though. For some reason the thought of that poor woman remaining stuck in there ... I don't like it.  
  
"Believe me, Diana," Angel finally says, his voice soft and silky, "we want to free Willow. She was our friend. We will do everything we can for her, but the first order of business is to ensure that her freedom doesn't lead to something catastrophic. If there is a way to free her without putting innocents in danger then we will do it. You can count on that."  
  
I believe him. Something about his face, his voice, I just know that he's telling me the truth. I can also tell that this Willow woman really means a lot to many of the people here. I can almost imagine I know her simply by looking at their eyes.  
  
After a minute or so of silence the planning gets underway again.  
  
"I don't like this no-tech zone they seem to have erected around the high school," Finn grumbles as he goes over the maps. "We don't know how much it will affect our weapons."  
  
"We can probably write off the stun-guns and tasers," Harris muses. "All the regular firearms should work fine, though. Mechanics and chemicals haven't failed us yet."  
  
"I'm more worried about having to abandon our vehicles outside the main objective," Angel adds. "With that many vampires and demons in there we're going to need all the momentum we can get just to make it into the high school ruins." He stops a moment, something like a look of nostalgia coming onto his face. "I wish we had horses."  
  
"Horses?" Finn asks, frowning heavily.  
  
"Well, they wouldn't conk out on us halfway in," Xander admits. "But I doubt most of our people here even know how to ride."  
  
Mr. Pryce, who has observed more or less quietly so far, shakes his head, sighing. "Six hundred people on horses charging into an unknown, probably lethal situation. I'm just as happy we're not going to do that. Bad precedent."  
  
I'm sure I'm not the only one looking at him with a puzzled expression on my face.  
  
"Just remembering a poem I read in school," he says.  
  
Angel and some others seem to know what he is talking about, but I guess poetry isn't my strong suit, even if I could remember going to school. Well, whatever school America's fabulous social system managed to scrounge up for me. I wonder what kind of student I was.  
  
"We need to get in fast and make sure we can get out again as well," Angel finally resumes the planning.  
  
"We can create a corridor along main street using our armored vehicles," Riley points along the map. "We'll leave a pair of them behind every fifty meters or so to keep the fall-back route open. The difficult part will be once we enter that no-tech zone."  
  
"We can put up some MG nests," Buzzcut adds. "Shouldn't be too difficult. I assume our super-powered people will take point."  
  
Angel nods. "Faith and myself go in first with Diana as backup. Tara and the coven witches behind us with Xander, Gunn, Wesley, and I'd say a dozen others to provide flank support."  
  
I am pretty sure the idea of being on point during a charge into a town full of vampires and demons should seriously freak me out. Maybe I should stop questioning why it doesn't. So far my instincts have saved me from a vampire and landed me a place among people that seem to be genuine heroes, if crazy and insane at times. Okay, I will trust my instincts from now on. If they say storming headfirst into that dust storm is a good idea, so be it.  
  
Does that make me crazy, too? Well, when in Rome...  
  
"Sir," someone calls out, causing all eyes to swivel towards him. A man in fatigues is coming toward the table, casually carrying a large rifle over his shoulder.  
  
"What is it, private?" Finn asks.  
  
"Sir, a vehicle is approaching. It does not seem to be one of the Angel Foundation vehicles and it certainly isn't one of ours."  
  
Angel and Finn share a glance, both of them wondering no doubt who else could be coming to this party. We're in the middle of nowhere here and according to what Faith said most people don't even remember that there was a town here once.  
  
"You expecting anyone, Amy?" Harris asks in a low voice.  
  
"I came alone," she shakes her head.  
  
Angel and Faith start for the edge of the impromptu camp, quickly followed by the rest of us. Seeing as said camp isn't too big we quickly arrive at the end of the road we came down on. A dust plume moves toward us and with a little eye squinting I can make out a car causing it. A black car. I think it's ... yes, it's a limousine.  
  
"I don't like the looks of this," I hear Mr. Pryce mumble.  
  
"What is it?" I whisper to Faith, not sure why all the people around me suddenly become nervous.  
  
"There's only one group of people we know who drive limos, kid," she answers, her eyes locked onto the approaching vehicle, "and they're not friends."  
  
Several soldiers have gone into position around us, rifles at the ready. Angel and Faith are positively bristling with energy and I can feel my own hackles rise, my entire body humming. I realize I'm clenching and unclenching my fists.  
  
Something bad is about to happen. I can almost smell it in the air around us.  
  
The car comes to a stop about ten meters away from the first line of soldiers. By now the twilight of dusk has almost faded and the only sources of light around us are the headlights of the various vehicles. Quite a few of them are currently turned towards the newcomers. The driver's side door opens and a man in a black suit steps out, hands raised above his head.  
  
"Please don't shoot," he yells at us. I can almost see pearls of sweat on his face. "I'm just delivering something."  
  
"From whom?" Finn barks back, a gun of his own lined up.  
  
"Wolfram & Hart," the driver says, slowly walking around the car. "I'm going to open the door if that's all right with you people."  
  
I'm not sure how I know that, but he's human. Not a demon, not a vampire, just human. I hope the people around me know that as well. I'm kind of on board with the whole demon killing thing, but machine guns don't discriminate between those and real people, I think. Everyone please stay cool!  
  
"Go ahead! But no sudden moves!"  
  
The driver moves almost in slow motion. When he finally reaches the door and begins to open it I'm about a second away from screaming at him to get a move on. He finally steps back and allows the passenger to step out.  
  
Even before I see her all my senses are buzzing and some kind of voice inside me head seems to scream danger at me. Everyone around me tenses and when a head comes into view a dozen and more voices gasp, the air around me filled with disbelief.  
  
I recognize that woman. I saw her in a vision while I was raiding a fridge for some early morning snacks.  
  
"Hi, guys," Buffy Summers says. "Miss me?"  
  
TO BE CONTINUED 


	25. Confusion to My Enemies

The Angel's Knight #25 - Confusion to My Enemies  
  
#  
  
110 miles north of Los Angeles, October 15, 2017  
  
#  
  
Everyone is staring, including myself. I can't help it. Granted, I don't know much about this woman in front of me, but the way first Cordelia and then Angel have talked about her ... I kinda expected her to be taller, you know? As it is she is at least an inch or two smaller than me. Skinnier, too. Still, there is something about her. Something that makes things itch in the back of my head.  
  
"That's ... that's Buffy, right?" I ask, just looking for independent confirmation here.  
  
Faith, standing right next to me, is also busy with staring, but takes the time to answer my question. "Yeah, Diana. That's B."  
  
Somehow the fact that she called me by my name rather than 'kid' does more to drive home the severity of this situation than all the stares. Here's a woman who died sixteen years ago, died saving the world, and she just climbed out of a limousine and asked if anyone missed her while she was gone.  
  
The staring last for an eternity, or so it feels to me, until Buffy takes a few hesitant steps forward. Her cheery greeting a minute ago does not go together with the look on her face. It's confused, uncertain. I know that look quite well, thank you. I've seen it in the mirror as far back as I can remember (all two weeks of it). It should make me feel some sympathy for her, I guess, especially knowing her history, but somehow ... I can't shake the feeling that there is something incredibly wrong about this situation.  
  
I finally tear my eyes away and look at the one person Buffy is staring at in turn. Angel. Why doesn't that surprise me? From everything I heard these two were supposed to be like the Romeo and Juliet of the supernatural world.  
  
In the time I've known the man, which isn't too long admittedly, I've barely ever seen any kind of emotion on his face. There was that slight smile he gave me during our little basement talk, but that was pretty much it. Right now his face is pure stone, but his eyes ... his eyes are shining with so much emotion that it almost tears my heart out.  
  
"Buffy?" he whispers. His voice is filled with ... something. Disbelief? Hope? I'm not sure.  
  
A slight smile of her own is on her lips as she walks closer to him.  
  
"That's what they tell me," she says. "I'm ... I'm not exactly certain. You ... you know me, right? We know each other."  
  
Angel says nothing, just keeps staring at her as if he hopes to figure things through sheer intensity. Buffy begins to fidget under his gaze.  
  
"Do we?" she asks, her voice barely more than a whisper.  
  
A side glance shows me that Finn and some of his men are busily shacking down the hapless driver who brought her here, but somehow I don't think he knows anything. I don't know who Wolfram & Hart are, but judging by everyone's reaction they are not the good guys. Which beggars the question, what's going on here?  
  
"Buffy," Mr. Pryce says, taking a step forward. "Are you ... forgive us, but we are having a bit of trouble with this situation. Maybe we should ..."  
  
He gestures towards the small base camp behind us. Chairs. People sitting down. Sounds like a good idea. If nothing else it will give people something else to do but stare. Which they are still doing. All of them. Well, I can't exactly throw stones. I'm doing it, too.  
  
We all march toward the table, Harris quickly removing the maps. Everyone sits down without so much as breaking their stares even once. I wait for someone to miss his chair or something. Anything to break the tension. Only it doesn't happen and now we all sit. Great. We make progress, yeah us!  
  
From the corner of my eye I can see Buzzcut instructing several of the soldiers to keep their weapons trained on the newcomer.  
  
"Tell me ... Buffy," Mr. Pryce begins. "What do you remember?"  
  
She looks down, wringing her hands.  
  
"I ... mostly bits and pieces. I woke up in a cave of some kind and ... I think I walked around in a daze for some time before people found me. They said ... they kept calling me Buffy and said they wanted to help me. When they called me that a few of my memories came back. Sunnydale, going to high school, some of you guys. It's all ... distant, though. A bit unreal."  
  
I try to figure out what it is that creeps me out so much about her. I mean, I never met Buffy Summers, so how should I be able to tell what's right or wrong about her? Faith told me that Slayers have some kind of sixth sense regarding dangers of the creepy kind. I look sideways at her and she, too, is fixated on the blonde woman. Seeing as Faith has been a Slayer about twenty years longer than me she should be better at figuring this stuff out, right?  
  
Looking back at Buffy, I once again feel this buzzing in the back of my head. I figure that's the alarm bell part of this Slayer sense thing. It came on in the alley when I used a wooden spoon to kill a vampire. Man, sometimes even thinking this stuff weirds me out in a big way. Anyway, it came on again when I first met Faith, then Angel, and there is some kind of low-level buzzing with Tara, too.  
  
That shouldn't worry me, though, right? If she's Buffy, then she's supernatural, too, so the buzz has good reason to be there. Somehow I can't quite convince myself. Buzz doesn't equal buzz and this one definitely ranges closer to the one the alley vampire gave me rather than the Faith- or Angel-type.  
  
I look at Angel again, who hasn't said so much as a single word since calling her by her name. I can't even guess what he's thinking right now. Cordelia said something about the two of them having some sort of bond. They felt each other's presence, they shared dreams, that sort of stuff. Is he feeling it now? Or does he have the same problem I have? Some kind of feeling he can't make sense of?  
  
"These people," Mr. Pryce continues, "they work for Wolfram & Hart?"  
  
"That's what they said, yes. They told me ... well, stuff. It managed to jar loose some of my memories, but I get the feeling there is still a lot I don't know. They said you guys knew me and would be able to help me figure things out."  
  
She looks around, briefly focusing on everyone. When she meets my eyes I get the chills. Something about the look in that eyes ... it feels wrong! Incredibly wrong. I can't put it any better than that. It's as if the very fact of her being here violates some kind of natural law or something. Is it just me or is the air around us filled with enough tension to cut it with a knife?  
  
Finn comes over, a frustrated look on his face. His eyes, too, are glued to Buffy.  
  
"The driver says he was simply hired by the lawyers to drive her here and doesn't know anything. I believe him."  
  
Buffy is back to staring at Angel. Somehow that irritates me.  
  
"Excuse us for a moment," Angel says, gesturing for the rest of us to follow him. We leave Buffy sitting alone at the table, the look on her face despondent. Okay, I guess I would be the same way if I returned from the dead and my friends reacted this way. Still, no sympathy feelings yet. Does that make me a bad person or just overly paranoid regarding apparent resurrections?  
  
Once we are out of earshot the first to talk is Faith.  
  
"It can't be B, can it? I mean, I do get that tingle from her, but it's ... different. Besides, Wolfram & Hart?"  
  
"Tara?" Angel turns to look at the blonde witch.  
  
"I'm not sure. There is nothing in her aura that indicates lying, but ... something is off."  
  
"Are we really talking about this?" Harris growls. "That isn't Buffy. Buffy died sixteen years ago. Wolfram & Hart are trying to do something to us, that's all. Sending us a doppelganger of Buffy is low, even for them, but..."  
  
Angel finally breaks his silence. "Cordelia had a vision that Buffy would return for the battle ahead."  
  
Everyone stares at him, stunned, including myself. Where did that come from? We talked about that vision I shared with Cordelia, the one that showed Buffy jumping off that tower, but that's the first I've heard of her returning. He should have told me!  
  
A second later I chide myself. Why should Angel tell me something like that? I'm a stranger to him, not exactly the first to tell all your most intimate secrets to. Still, for some reason I can't quite explain I'm extremely angry with him for withholding that piece of information. Almost as if ... it's crazy. I barely even know Angel.  
  
"We still don't know how accurate that vision is, Angel," Mr. Pryce interjects. "And, even if we entertain the possibility that this is really Buffy sitting at the table over there, we should still keep in mind that Wolfram & Hart sent her here. Even in the best of all possible worlds I doubt they would do so without some strings attached."  
  
Faith takes a step closer to Angel. "What do you feel from her, big guy?"  
  
He shakes his head, sighing. "I'm not sure. Buffy and I ... we always had a sense for each other, but ... I feel something from her, but it's ... strange."  
  
"If she went through some kind of reincarnation process then she's bound to feel a little different, right?" Finn looks at the others. His face is filled with mixed feelings. Did he know Buffy as well? I don't think anyone filled me in on that bit of history.  
  
"She feels wrong!" The words are out of my mouth before I can help it and everyone is staring at me.  
  
"What do you mean, kid?" Faith asks.  
  
Part of me wants to go and hide in a corner somewhere, but I don't. Everything that's happened to me has led me here, to this place and these people. I can't shake the feeling that I'm to do something really important here and I'm not about to mess it up. Besides, haven't I resolved to listen to my instincts? If I hadn't I certainly would never have come here.  
  
"I don't know. I mean, I never met Buffy. Would be kinda hard, seeing as I was about a year old on the day she ... you know. But ... I look at her and ... it's wrong. Like that vampire in the alley, only more so."  
  
They share glances with each other, probably debating how much my words are worth. It's not like they know me well enough to trust my judgment. Two days ago I wouldn't have trusted my own judgment, especially not when it comes to vampires, demons, and pretending to be a dead friend come back to life, but...  
  
Basically, we want to offer you to return from the dead and become one of the living again.  
  
Okay, where did that come from? I seem to remember someone saying these words to me, but who? And when? I'm sure I would remember if someone had told me something like that during the last two weeks, so ... oh God, could this mean my memory is starting to return? But why would I remember someone telling me about a return from the dead? Okay, so I was dead. For thirty minutes or so, but I doubt that entailed a meeting with God or any such thing, did it?  
  
"We can't deal with this now," I hear Buzzcut whisper to Finn. "We're about to head into a battle. A distraction like this..."  
  
Finn just nods, cutting him off with a gesture. Maybe this is exactly why these wolf guys delivered her to us? Confusion to my enemies and such? They certainly succeeded there. Everyone around me is uncertain what to do now and I'm afraid my comments didn't make it much better.  
  
I turn to look at Buffy again, hoping for some kind of divine inspiration to help me figure out the buzz I'm getting from her. The world around me seems to narrow down, the others fading away. I can feel a pulsing in my blood, almost as if I'm reacting to something that is getting stronger and stronger by the moment. A mile or more behind where Buffy is sitting I can see the dark outline of the dust storm that obscures the ruins of Sunnydale from view. It shouldn't stand out against the dark sky this way, but I can see it just fine.  
  
It almost looks like it's glowing from the inside and the glow frames Buffy's figure like a halo. She looks up and meets my eyes.  
  
The First is a master of illusion and manipulation, but also holds real power. It could, for instance, promise Angel to bring you back to him.  
  
Is this a memory? Or something else? I can't tell. Something is happening to me, something I can't really describe. It feels like something inside me is parting like a curtain, as if the pieces are coming together to form a picture for once. Being here, it feels right. Being with these people, it feels right. Planning for a battle to prevent the world from ending, it feels right.  
  
But her, that woman that looks like Buffy Summers, does not.  
  
My body starts moving, leaving my brain three steps behind. I walk right up to this imposter, never breaking eye contact with her. There is a mixture of confusion and weariness on her face as she rises from her chair, her body falling into a combat stance. She thinks I want to fight her. I'm not sure what I want to do, what I'm doing right here, but I know. Somehow I know.  
  
Some part of my mind realizes the others are right behind me, several of them ready to jump between me and the other in case something happens. Angel's presence is like a cool pressure against my back, but I haven't got time to think about that now. I look into the imposter's eyes from less than a foot away.  
  
"You are not Buffy Summers!"  
  
And like a steel cable stretched beyond endurance the tension suddenly snaps and all hell breaks loose.  
  
TO BE CONTINUED 


	26. Impending Clarity

The Angel's Knight #26 - Impending Clarity by Philip S.  
  
Summary: Of fake Slayers, late arrivals, and a call to arms and furious battle. Spoilers: Everything up to the end of Buffy S5 / Angel S2. Everything after that is different.  
  
Rating: PG-13  
  
Disclaimer: All characters taken from the TV shows Buffy and Angel are property Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. No infringement is intended. Archive: Story will be archived at www.shadow-dancing.com. Everyone else please ask!  
  
#  
  
110 miles north of Los Angeles, October 15, 2017  
  
#  
  
Every pair of eyes present is looking at the events happening right in front of me, but I doubt anyone else is seeing quite what I'm seeing. Except maybe the witches from Maryke's New England coven, but I'm not sure about them, either. Everyone sees Diana, the mysterious new Slayer, walk up to the woman claiming to be Buffy. Her words are audible to everyone within hearing distance.  
  
Me, I'm too busy looking at something else too even notice.  
  
I've always been good at seeing auras. Not just auras at that. I've always seen things other people didn't. No wonder many kids in school considered me a freak. It came to the point where I told no one about the things I saw, too afraid of their ridicule. Things have changed since then, but I still find it hard to describe the things I see to people who, compared to myself, are so blind to a large part of the world.  
  
A human being is more than flesh and blood. It's energy, a living field of light and color hovering just outside the range of most human eyes. It's unique for every person and never static, flickering and changing with every second of life lived. Every experience adds to it. Colors are dulled by age, light is dimmed by the fading of innocence. The aura can tell a person's life at a single glance and sometimes I have a hard time understanding how people that can't see it can even relate to others.  
  
Diana's aura is changing with every step she takes towards 'Buffy', a flickering mass of confusion streamlining into a focused whole for the briefest of moments. Almost as if she becomes whole for the duration of a heartbeat, as if the scattered pieces of her life fit together for the shortest of seconds before falling apart again.  
  
The moment they face each other, the moment Diana yells that this blonde woman before her is not Buffy Summers, in that single moment the two auras seem almost identical. More in synch even that Diana and Faith's. Almost as if they belong to one and the same person.  
  
Then suddenly everything falls apart.  
  
The aura of the thing calling itself Buffy, the thing that almost fooled me into believing it, changes violently. The gentle light of tempered strength and passionate purpose that always made Buffy so unique fades completely, replaced by a darkness that chills me simply by looking at it.  
  
Some part of me registers that the flesh is changing as well. A human shape ripples and flows until it looks nothing like a woman anymore. It grows, it changes, it becomes something right out of a nightmare. At least seven feet tall, armored scales, rows upon rows of needle-sharp teeth, hands tipped with vicious claws.  
  
All around me people are trying to overcome their shock, moving to fight this threat that has suddenly appeared in our midst, but I can't stop staring. I've never seen anything like this before. Within the span of a few seconds this thing's aura has completely reversed itself, upside down and inside out. This is impossible. An aura can change with time, but this ... a person, even a demon, can't suddenly become something completely different. Not inside where it counts.  
  
This can't be happening!  
  
"Tara! Look out!" Someone tackles me from the side, wrenching me out of my thoughts. I look up just in time to see the huge, dark shape of the thing rush past me. It would have flattened me if not for Xander, who is busy getting back to his feet and taking out his weapon.  
  
The real world fades back into view for me and I see that the staging area has descended into chaos. The thing is making a beeline right towards Angel and the others, its dark being focused on but one purpose. It wants to take out the leader of this army. I can almost see it, every erg of its strength aimed directly at the heart of Angel.  
  
None of which compares to what's radiating off Angel right at this moment.  
  
In all the years I've known Angel he has always been subdued, held back. A man so afraid of his own feelings, his own dark desires, that he has hidden them behind thick walls, never letting them out. If not for the undeniable compassion in his eyes, the light of pure good I can see in him without even trying, I might have mistaken him for a cold and uncaring person. He is anything but.  
  
Right now, though, the walls are nowhere in sight. The dark, putrid thing inside of him, the essence of the demonic, is pouring out in thick waves, human hatred mixed with inhuman fury. His face has lost all traces of humanity and his eyes are filled with bloodlust.  
  
For the first time in my life I'm scared of him.  
  
Moments later the dark thing has reached him and the two demons collide head-on. His opponent is at least a full foot larger than him and twice as broad, but Angel doesn't seem to care. He tears into it with his bare hand, armored scales splintering under his claw-like fingers. The thing's own claws cut deep into his flesh, but he doesn't seem to feel it. The ground shakes from the force of their collision and I can see even the most hardened of battle veterans among our gathered army pale.  
  
Everyone seems frozen by Angel's outbreak of hate and fury, everyone but Diana and Faith. The two Slayers are jumping into the fray, identical looks of determination on their faces. Faith is almost as furious as Angel, but she, even more than him, is weary of the demon inside of her. Maybe because hers isn't bound by magic, but only by her own willpower. For her it doesn't take perfect happiness, just a single second of carelessness. Her fury is a finely tempered steel edge and she drives it deep into the thing's hide.  
  
And Diana? She has changed again. Whatever completeness she achieved for herself a moment ago is gone again, little more than a glimpsed dream. Instead she is immersing herself in the moment of battle, allowing instincts to take over.  
  
The battle is done with quickly, but it seems to last an eternity. When the thing finally collapses, broken and bloodied, I know that it's not over. Not even by half. Angel looks down at it, his hands and arms covered in black blood almost up to his elbows, and the fury hasn't faded. The walls haven't come back up. I've never met Angelus, something I'm very grateful for, but right now I'm looking at something ten times worse.  
  
A demon with a soul that is filled with enough rage and anger to set an entire world ablaze.  
  
Angel's eyes flicker away from the dead thing and toward the driver of the limousine, a mere man who obviously hasn't got the slightest idea what he has gotten himself into. Somehow I doubt Angel cares.  
  
Before anyone among us can react Angel has crossed the distance, grabs the man by his neck, and slams him against the hood of his car with enough force to crack ribs. All around me people are moving once again, maybe intending to stop him, maybe trying to get a good distance away from him. I'm torn myself.  
  
"I should kill you," Angel growls, his face less than inch away from that of the driver. I think the only reason the poor man isn't fainting right now is his own stark terror. "For bringing that thing here, I should kill you. But I won't. I want you to do something for me, little man. Will you do something for me?"  
  
Every word from his lips quivers with hatred and rage, barely contained. Angel's human soul isn't holding him back right now. It's cheering him on.  
  
"Go back to the people that hired you. Tell them that I got their little present. Tell them I will be visiting each and every single one of them to personally express my gratitude. Do we understand each other?"  
  
The driver frantically nods, as much as he's able to with Angel's hand clamped around his throat. A moment later he is freed, Angel releasing him, and I don't think I've ever seen a mere human move that fast. He jumps behind the wheel and moments later the limousine is gone, the sound of screeching tires fading into the distance.  
  
Angel turns around and sees all of us looking at him. For a long moment there is silence, then Faith takes a step forward, a worried look on her face.  
  
"You okay, big guy?"  
  
He stares at her for several heartbeats, only to shake his head.  
  
"No, Faith. I'm anything but okay." With that he stalks past her, back towards the table where the thing just sat, back towards the maps for our invasion of Sunnydale.  
  
Faith sighs, closing her eyes.  
  
"Well," she mutters, "if Wolfram & Hart wanted to get him pissed, they succeeded beyond their wildest dreams."  
  
"I thought they had reached the height of their depravity when they brought back Darla," Wesley adds. "It seems I've been wrong."  
  
I look at Diana and she seems more confused than ever before. Quickly moving towards her, I put my hand on her shoulder. When she looks up at me her eyes are filled with questions.  
  
"I just knew," she whispers under her breath. "I looked at her and suddenly I knew. I heard someone saying something about deceptions and illusions, almost as if I was remembering it."  
  
She swallows hard, wrapping her arms around herself to stop them from shaking. "What is happening to me, Tara?"  
  
I lean down to hug her, wishing that I could help her figure things out. That moment back there, for a moment I almost thought she had found it. Had found herself. Maybe it was a glimpse of things to come. Goddess, I hope so. This poor girl deserves to be whole again.  
  
"We will get moving right now," I can hear Angel. "I don't want Wolfram & Hart or anyone else to delay us any further."  
  
Wesley approaches him, more worried than I've seen him in a good long while.  
  
"Angel, please take a moment to calm down. We ..."  
  
"We don't have a moment, Wesley," he interrupts him. "Wolfram & Hart have crossed another line here tonight and they know it. Not even Lilah could be so stupid as to do something like this without expecting me to get back at her for it. No, whatever is happening in Sunnydale, it's important enough for them to do ... this. Which means we have to get moving right now."  
  
I don't like what I'm seeing when I'm looking at him, but I'm afraid he is right. Whatever that thing really was, however it did what it did, it certainly represented a major effort on Wolfram & Hart's part. They are not the kind of people to do something like this just to annoy Angel.  
  
Looking at the dust cloud that still hides Sunnydale suddenly drives things home for me. I haven't dared think of it so far, but now the thought is there and won't let go. Willow! Willow is in there. She might still be alive. She might still be alive and if she is then she has been in Goddess knows what kind of pain nonstop for the last sixteen years.  
  
I have lost track of the number of nights I cried myself to sleep after leaving her. I had to do it, there was never any doubt, but the price ... the price was so incredibly high. I had let her in so deep. There have been others since, but no one has ever been to me what Willow was.  
  
The worst thing wasn't even what she did to me. I might have been able to get over that eventually. No, the worst thing was that she never felt guilty about it. She raped my mind, rearranged my thoughts to her own design, and didn't see it as a bad thing. That, more than anything else, showed me that this was no longer the woman I had fallen in love with.  
  
The only problem is that realizing this was not the same as to stop loving her.  
  
And now, sixteen years later, she might still be alive. We are going into Sunnydale to prevent a group of dark mages from freeing her. Maybe afterwards we will try and find a way to free her ourselves without bringing about the end of the world. I can't help but wonder what will happen if I see her again. What will I feel? What will I do?  
  
"Tara? You okay?"  
  
I come out of my thoughts realizing that I'm still hugging Diana, who looks at me with worry. I've never been good at hiding my own emotions, I'm afraid.  
  
"Just memories, Diana," I mutter. "Good memories, bad memories, and not knowing where the line is between them."  
  
"I wouldn't know about that." She gives a sad chuckle. "Got some to spare?"  
  
"None I would want anyone to have."  
  
Now is not the time to open up old wounds or think about what might be. Angel was right. We have no time to spare. We need to get this over with and done. Then we can try and deal with our own personal demons. If only they were as easy to strike down as that black thing on the ground over there. If only.  
  
We prepare. We start to move. Sunnydale, here we come. Only we have barely managed to drive half a mile towards our goal when something else happens. The air around us fizzles and sizzles for a second, the familiar shiver of a magical spell runs down my spine. A teleportation spell. Someone is about to teleport in on us.  
  
A brief flash of light and there are five figures standing right in our paths. The military vehicles screech to a halt, the cars behind them hit their breaks for all they are worth. Dozens of weapons are immediately trained on the newcomers.  
  
"Looks like we got here just in time."  
  
One is Giles. Another is Cordy. I don't know the two blonde women standing beside them, but the fifth ...  
  
Oh, Goddess.  
  
Dawn?  
  
TO BE CONTINUED 


	27. Everything You Ever Wanted to Know About...

The Angel's Knight #27 - Everything You Ever Wanted to Know About the Supernatural  
  
#  
  
110 miles north of Los Angeles, October 15, 2017  
  
#  
  
There is very little time left to tell this story, so I beg you to listen and remember your questions for later. I promise to answer as many of them as I can in the short while before the battle ahead. For now, though, it is very important that you all understand the nature of the war you have been drafted into and in order to do that you need to understand the nature of this world. The world you have all been walking in for large portions of your life, whether you remember it or not.  
  
First you must know that there are two worlds where we perceive but one. The first to come into existence was the mundane world. It is the world most human beings spend their lives in. It is governed by natural laws and reason. In this world there are no strange and wondrous creatures and things that can not be explained. It is a world that, to some, is boring and cold, yet it has more than its share of wonder. Music, art, love, achievement, all these are miracles in their own right. Just not the kind that are written about in the fairy tales.  
  
There is another world, though. The world you live in. There is no clear line of separation between the two, mind you. They exist in the same place, they exist at the same time, and more often than not they will intersect. One can cross from one into the other and back a thousand and more times within a single human lifetime. Yet this second world is quite different from the first one. And far, far more dangerous.  
  
It is the world of myth.  
  
It was born long after the mundane world, came into existence only when the first intelligent creatures emerged and started wondering what might be hiding out there in the shadows of night, what strange wonders might be found out there in the darkness. None of them ever guessed at the truth. The simple truth that there was no second world of monsters and demons hidden anywhere until they themselves dreamed it into existence. All they needed in order to do that was their own limitless imagination and one other thing.  
  
The Torch. Cordelia here has seen it in her visions a hundred times by now. A towering construct cradling an eternal flame, hidden deep beneath the world. How it came to be there even I can not tell you. I doubt anyone on this level of existence can. What I can tell you is that it is powerful. Maybe the greatest single power to exist in this world. For untold eons this power lay quiet beneath the world until it was first tapped. Tapped by those who let their imagination roam free.  
  
Out of the flames of the Torch were born creatures that had no right to exist in the mundane world. Dead bodies do not rise again, they do not walk around without heartbeats, and they do not combust upon having a stake thrust into their hearts. Yet in the minds of some people they did, people that were afraid of the dark, and soon their fears took form and walked on two feet, sank their fangs into the flesh of their creators.  
  
The written word allowed people to write down and share their stories across space and time and there were always those among the readers who wondered, who questioned, who believed. One man might write a tale of someone who turned into an animal by the light of the full moon, a tale that served no other purpose than amusement and brief distraction. Yet another man might read it and believe it, thereby giving flesh to the story, sending it out into the forest to run, to howl, to kill, to create others like itself.  
  
These new creatures lived by their own rules, had their own natural laws, their own limitations. They looked at their world as it was and accepted it. A vampire would not question why a creature without a heartbeat could have an erection anymore than a mundane human would ask why its hair grows. Okay, there are some that ask these questions, but they are always the minority and often ignored.  
  
Before you ask, no! The fact that vampires and other creatures of myth are born from stories does not make them anything less than real. Whether you emerged from a female's womb or from the pages of a fairy tale does not make a difference on the fundamental level. Things are easily brought to life, but destroying them is much harder. Even if all vampire stories were to be burned today and not a single human being even remembered them anymore, even then the vampires would endure. A son does not automatically die when his mother does, does he?  
  
Not all the creatures born in the world of myth have been given their form by human imagination, though. No, there are others. Creatures that serve a greater purpose, a more than mere manifestations of stories and fables.  
  
One among these creatures is the Slayer. No fairy tale was ever written about it and no child ever gazed out into the darkness, imagining a young girl hunting and killing vampires. Or maybe they did, but not enough of them to actually bring such a girl to life. No, the Slayer is old, much older than the creatures it is meant to hunt and destroy. Older than the Council of Watchers. Older than any form of human civilization.  
  
The Slayer is a creature of balance. Born directly from the fires of the Torch, its primary purpose is to keep myth from subjugating reality. Creatures that adhere to no natural law, whose only limits are those imposed upon it by a people unaware of their own creative power, would inevitably conquer or destroy the world that birthed them. The Slayer is to prevent this from happening. It keeps the mundane and the mythological world in balance.  
  
I would very much like to give you all more time to absorb these revelations, to figure out what they mean for you and the lives you have led, but I fear there is no time for that. I am sorry. There is more you must learn. The conflict ahead of us is about much more than a group of dark mages looking to open the Hellmouth. By the way, the Hellmouth? I believe your friend Fred was very close to figuring out the truth about it. Fred? Why don't you tell them?  
  
Yes, indeed. The Hellmouth is little more than a source of energy. A focal point for the powers of the Torch, to be exact. Nowhere on the surface of this world do the fires of myth burn more brightly, nowhere else is their power as easily accessible. Enough power to transform a man into a greater demon. Enough power to open a gateway to an imagined hell dimension. Enough power for a fallen God to try and remake the entire world in her image.  
  
It is also the only known entrance into the resting place of the Torch itself.  
  
That's pretty much what this is all about. The Torch. The source of all mythical power in this world. That's a lot of power, believe me. And, naturally, there are those that are interested in this kind of power. Who want to use it for their own purposes.  
  
Let me tell you another story. There are more world out there then the one, or two, we live in. You have seen some of these worlds. You have visited them. Phylea, remember? Fred, you spent years there. It's not a demon dimension, no. There is no such thing as demon dimensions. It's a world that was once like ours. A world comprised of two worlds in balance, one mundane, one mythological. Only in that world the balance was destroyed. The mundane was eradicated and only the mythological remained. There are other worlds where the balance tipped the other way. In those world the myths are just that, myths. No more than stories, tales without substance.  
  
And the destruction of that balance is always the result of a battle. A battle of the kind we are about to enter. It's not about Sunnydale. It's not about Willow. It's not about the Hellmouth. It's about the fate of the world, both worlds, and which of them shall rule supreme at the expense of the other.  
  
There are two factions in this battle. Always the same two, no matter what world they wage their battle in. They take different names, different shapes, but they are always the same beings. Or maybe I should use another word for them. Gods? They certainly behave as if they were gods, playing with worlds the way children play with their toys. What you need to know about them is that they are geometrically opposed. Deadly enemies. They play their game for the highest of stakes.  
  
They both want to tip the balance. One side wants a world like Phylea, wants to drown the mundane in the mythical. The other wants a world devoid of all myth, nothing but cold, hard reality remaining. Both need to reach the Torch in order to fulfill their goal. The interesting thing is, though, that the rules of the game allow neither of them to go there themselves. They have to manipulate others into doing it for them.  
  
I am sure you have already guessed the names these two factions are known by in our world. You work for one of them. It is for their purpose, not your own, that you are about to enter into battle.  
  
I imagine that the foremost questions on all your minds right now is the one asking who the hell I am and how I know all these things. A few of you already know, but there is one very important person I have yet to tell. The name I was given by Darla, my mother, is Celeste. Yes, Darla is my mother, as impossible as that may seem. And my father, well, that would be you, Angel.  
  
Hi, daddy! It's nice to meet you at last.  
  
I know things are really difficult for you right now. I saw the little gift Wolfram & Hart sent you. In case you are wondering, the thing was so good at fooling you because it really believed itself to be Buffy. Well, for those few days since the lawyers brought it to life and told it that it was Buffy, you could almost say that it was her. It was only when someone told it that it wasn't Buffy that it began to reassume the shape it had been given originally. Remembered its original purpose, which was to kill you. Complicated, I know. Ask Giles or Darla about it, they have gathered a bit of experience regarding creatures like this.  
  
I know how much it hurt you too see her again, daddy, even if it wasn't quite her. I'm sorry I came too late to warn you about it. But I see you had someone else there to protect you from their machinations. Diana, right? You and I should have a talk later on, there is a lot about yourself that you don't know yet. Later, though. Our time is running out.  
  
As to how I know all that I know ... I can't tell you that quite yet. I hope you can find it in your heart to trust me, daddy, even if you have never met me before to day. I know I am asking a lot. Mother would tell you that you can trust me, but you have even less reason to believe her than me. Cordelia and Giles know part of the story. They have decided to trust me for now and I hope that will suffice for you.  
  
There is someone else here with us, someone whose presence is imperceptible to most of you for the time being. Tara, from the look on your face I can guess that you can see her already. Again, there is not enough time to explain it all to you. Be assured that things will become clearer once we enter the battle.  
  
You already know what needs to be done. At this moment the dark mages, who have sworn their service to the faction that wants to drown the world in the fires of myth, are busy trying to free Willow from her imprisonment, thereby opening the focal point and giving them access to the Torch itself. If at all possible that must be prevented from happening. If we can't, then we must go down into the Earth and find the Torch ourselves before the others can. If the worst should come to pass ... well, let us hope it won't.  
  
Before we get moving again I would like to speak to some of you individually.  
  
Tara, I know how much you dread what you might find in Sunnydale. I know you are torn between the love you still feel for Willow and your memories of what she did to you. When the moment comes, and you will know when it does, trust your instincts. Trust the one thing you can do better than anyone else. It will not lead you astray.  
  
Amy, you will be asked to do something incredibly difficult. Much more difficult than breaking free of the dark magic that held you in its grasp at one time. I am asking you to remember how you felt when the darkness had a hold of you. Remember that people can claw their way out of the shadows and back into the light.  
  
Xander, right now you would like nothing better than to go back home to Anya and your children, I know that. It is your sense of commitment that makes you strong. Remember it when the time comes.  
  
Faith, remember what I said about the nature of the Slayer. You are a creature of balance. This purpose has been all but forgotten in the years since the First Slayer walked the Earth. It is crucial that you remember it once again.  
  
Mom, for most of your life you have let others dictate what you should be. Now is the time to decide for yourself what you are and what you will do.  
  
Diana, your role in this battle might be the most crucial of them all, because you are a wild card, a trump most thought was already out of the game. You must separate truth from lie, fact from fiction, and remember why you are here and what you must do. No one can tell you that, you can only realize it for yourself and you haven't much time left.  
  
Daddy, I know you have a thousand questions. About me, about mom, about the role you are to play. I can feel the rage they have ignited within you. Please don't allow it to overcome you. This is the moment you were made for, daddy. Even more than the Slayer you are a creature of balance, one who is at home in both worlds. A demon with the soul of a man. That is why both sides tried so hard to pull you into their camps. Why one tried to bring back the demon you were and the other lured you with the promise of becoming a human man. You represent unity, balance, and that is what they both intend to destroy.  
  
All will be made clear very soon. I promise you that. Right now, though, we have no more time left. Please hurry and remember what I told you. All of you.  
  
Good luck to all of us!  
  
TO BE CONTINUED 


	28. Onslaught Commencing

The Angel's Knight #28 - Onslaught Commencing  
  
#  
  
110 miles north of Los Angeles, October 15, 2017  
  
#  
  
I'm not good at making quick decisions.  
  
Never have been. When my soul was restored to me I needed a century to work out what that meant for me and even then I needed the help of a demon. Whistler. I wonder what happened to him in the meantime. When it was revealed to me how dangerous my very presence was to the people I loved the most, it took me the better part of a year to work up the necessary resolve to do the right thing and leave them behind. When Darla returned I needed forever to decide what to do and when the time came to kill her I couldn't go through with that, either.  
  
Maybe it's one of the drawbacks of being immortal. Too much time ahead of me. Or maybe it's just me. The few impulsive decisions I've made in my life - following Darla that night in 1753, sleeping with Buffy on her 17th birthday - turned out to be disasters. Is it a case of once burned, twice shy?  
  
One part of me would really like to just sit down somewhere and think this over. Brooding, as some of my friends would say. It's as good a name as any for it, I guess. The only problem is that we have no time to sit down and think right now. The mouth of hell might be opening right in front of us and, as usual, we are the only ones in a position to stop it.  
  
That, and the fact that the other part of me is longing to tear something to pieces and gorge myself on my enemies' blood.  
  
I feel my hands shaking. So many things have happened these last 48 hours. Diana, the new Vampire Slayer, who has awakened feelings inside of me that I have resolved never to feel again, that I can't afford to feel again. Wolfram & Hart sending me this ... this thing, made worse by the fact that one of Cordy's visions actually showed Buffy returning to me. I'm hoping that this is what she saw, that it's over, but some part of me doesn't believe that.  
  
Angelus is stirring inside of me, spurned on by the rage of seeing Wolfram & Hart spit on Buffy's memory in this way. He, too, loved her, though in a perverse, obsessive way. He would gladly have killed her, but would have torn everyone else to shreds who dared to touch her. I can count the times in my life when the demon and I were in perfect agreement on the fingers of one hand. Today is one of them.  
  
And now this. Darla and this girl, Celeste. My daughter? I don't understand how this can be possible, but somehow I know that it's true. I look into her eyes and I know it's true. It doesn't make any sense, even with what she has told us. Even if I were to accept that vampires are creatures born from human fairy tales and superstition by way of this Torch, how can two such creatures create a human child between them?  
  
Trying to find a logical solution to everything that is happening is not made easier by Darla's presence. The last time we met I promised I would kill her the next time we met. I see her steal glances at me and I know she remembers that promise. I know she is afraid of me. As well she should be. All the things she has done to me ... but then I see her looking at Celeste and there is so much love in her gaze that it can't be faked. She loves this girl ... our girl. Something else that doesn't make sense.  
  
There was some discussion on whether or not to go ahead with the attack after what Celeste told us. Was it the truth? I'm afraid there is no way to tell, but somehow it sounds right. We have always regarded the Powers That Be as a force of good, but did we ever see any concrete proof?  
  
Celeste said we are working for their cause, not our own. Does that mean their cause is something we shouldn't get behind? If I understood her right the Powers want a world without myth, a world devoid of magic and the demonic. Would that be such a bad thing? No vampires, no monsters, no forces of darkness.  
  
I don't know. I'm really not good at making quick decisions.  
  
There was no real question about the attack, though. If nothing else we can get behind preventing the world from being overrun by creatures of myth. I remember Phylea. It didn't look horrible on the surface, far from it, but once you looked a little deeper ... humans as slaves, demons ruling everything, all laws of physics superseded by magic and the supernatural. For years I wondered what kind of connection Wolfram & Hart had with the rulers of that strange and terrifying world. Now I know, at least if Celeste is speaking the truth. They work for the same people that made that world what it is.  
  
So we go, following the rudimentary plan we laid out. Go in with guns blazing, hoping we have enough momentum to reach the center of town and prevent the dark mages from freeing Willow and opening the Hellmouth that way. We discussed the option of sneaking in like Xander did, but I don't think that's an option we have anymore. Even from this far away I can feel the power of the Hellmouth growing, calling out to me. We're running out of time.  
  
Fred took some moments to explain what she found out about the nature of the Hellmouth. Among other things it means that my experience after tumbling into Akathler's portal wasn't quite what I thought it was.  
  
There are no hell dimensions. Everything I experienced during those five months that felt like hundreds of years was of my own doing, my own unconscious design. The demons that tortured me, the pain I felt without break, all my own doing. Come to think of it, why am I surprised? Faith once said that the main thing the two of us have in common is self-hatred, a desire to see ourselves punished for the things we did over and over again. Is it really so far-off that, immersed in a realm that would adapt to my own unconscious mind, I ended up in a giant torture chamber?  
  
No more time to muse things over. We get moving and before we know it we are past the city limit. Almost immediately the first creatures attack us. Mantises, dozens of them, as well as a virtual army of zombies that has gotten its first whiff of fresh meat in years. I can hear some of the people in our ranks utter prayers beneath their breaths, but no one is hesitating, no one is pulling back. All of them have faced the demonic before, though I doubt more than a handful of us have ever imagined anything like this.  
  
The fighting starts and I surrender myself to the rush. Faith is beside me, Diana directly behind us, and we tear through the obstacles in our way as if they were paper. The thunder of automatic weapons fills the air around us as demonic and decomposing bodies are cut into pieces by hailstorms of lead. Magical lightning crackles through the ranks of our enemies as the witches put their own power into our push.  
  
Some leftover landmarks enable me to recognize this as the former main street of Sunnydale. Have we gotten this far already? Whether it's the rush of combat or the siren call of the Hellmouth, I've lost all sense of time. I take a second to look back and see our way littered with demon bodies, as well as the occasional still form in uniform or street clothing. Armored vehicles begin to fan out along the side of the street, opening up our corridor and preparing to guard our eventual retreat. Some of them are moving sluggish already. We must be approaching the no-tech zone in the heart of Sunnydale.  
  
Even as I cut a vampire down in front of me I see that we seem to have received some unexpected aid at the last minute. A group of werewolves have joined our ranks. Wesley mentioned something about the negotiations with them, but I didn't pay much attention at the time. I guess he came through. The wolves are led by a huge, shaggy alpha male whose scent I recognize as Oz'. I wonder whether anyone managed to tell him about Willow. I wonder if he still loves her. I look at Diana, fighting beside me, and force myself to stop wondering. We're in the middle of a fight and our enemies are beginning to slow us down by sheer numbers.  
  
No time to think, no time to muse over anything. Just push forward, remove everything that stands in the way. Faith on my right, Diana now on my left, and ... Darla? Darla is fighting on the far left flank. Separate from the main thrust, as no one wanted her at his or her back, and tearing into vampires and demons with a ferocity I've never seen in her before. Then I see that Celeste is only a few steps behind her, her face as serene as if she was walking through a park at noon. Darla tears apart anything and everything that even comes close to Celeste.  
  
Interestingly enough, though, most of the creatures don't even bat an eye in the girl's direction. It's as if they don't even see her.  
  
Again I push the thoughts away for later. The air in front of me begins to shimmer and I recognize the specific scent of a magical spell about to break. The street ahead of us is filled with black-robed shapes.  
  
"They're going to hit us with magic," I yell backwards toward Tara and the other witches. "Put up a shield!"  
  
Tara, Amy, and the others begin to chant, surrounded by soldiers whose main objective is to keep them safe at all costs until we reach the center of town. The black mages unleash a torrent of energy, only to be met with resistance in mid-air. Our side is vastly outnumbered on the magical side of things as well, but they only need to keep them at bay for the few seconds it takes us to get close. No matter how powerful a witch or a warlock, when it comes to hand-to-hand combat they are just human.  
  
We advance deeper into the ruined town and without even turning around I know the ranks behind us are getting thinner. I can smell blood in the air, and it's not the stale, dead variety the zombies and vampires carry in their veins. I wonder how many of our 600 have survived this far into the charge and chase the thought away a moment later. The time to mourn will come afterwards, if there is such a thing.  
  
Finally, after what seems like an eternity consisting of nothing but fighting and screams, our goal comes into view.  
  
"We're almost there," Xander yells from behind me. "The statue is right where the library used to be."  
  
Nothing much is left of Sunnydale High and the ruins are crawling with demons, vampires, and black-robed mages. The only reason they haven't massacred us yet is their complete lack of strategy and cooperation. Even Xander vastly underestimated their numbers. I take a quick moment to take stock of our own forces. All the armored vehicles have fallen behind, staying safely outside the no-tech zone, everyone who made it this far is on foot.  
  
I really wish we had horses.  
  
There are about two hundred people or so, many of them in less than perfect shape. I don't want to calculate how many of the remaining four hundred stayed behind to keep the corridor open and how many stayed behind permanently.  
  
"Okay, people," Riley barks from behind me, jamming a fresh cartridge into his rifle. "Let's finish this!"  
  
Moments later we are back in the breach and the world consists wholly of enemies to be killed and allies to watch out for. We know the direction we need to go and even if we didn't, by now even those among our number who have no sensitivity at all when it comes to the supernatural would have no trouble finding our goal. Every instinct in my body screams at me to go there, the Hellmouth or whatever it is drawing me in like a moth to the flames.  
  
Did I even wash the dark blood of this creature that impersonated Buffy off my hands? I can no longer tell after tearing dozens of zombies to pieces, tearing the guts out of at least five Mantises, and God alone knows how many vampires. Did I slip back into human face once after that first fight went down? I don't think so.  
  
The walls around me bear no resemblance to the school corridors I remember from the time I lived here, from the time Buffy went to school here. Ruins, nothing but ruins, overrun with the very creatures she spent her youth destroying. The red haze that has fallen over my eyes ever since that creature revealed its true nature grows yet more intense. These things don't have the right to be here.  
  
I lose all track of time as more and more of the creatures fall before me. I receive wounds in turn, but I barely feel them. I'm aware only of those directly beside me. Faith, Diana, and now Darla. I almost laugh at that. All that's missing is for Spike to rise from his own dust and fight by my side. Considering what happened to Darla that might not be as impossible as it sounds.  
  
Somewhere ahead of us there is a bright light, cutting through the remains of the dust storm with ease. The light makes my skin crawl and the magic around us is thick enough to cut it with a knife. We increase our pace, all of us sensing that even a second's delay might cost us dearly now.  
  
What was once the library is now a clearing, all rubble removed, and filled with black-robed mages and demons. I look for the statue Xander and Amy talked about, the same statue Cordy saw in her visions, but the light hailing from the center of the clearing is too bright to look at directly. I can hear chanting in the air.  
  
"Tara," I scream, trying to shield my eyes from the glare. "Disrupt their spell! Quickly!"  
  
I see Tara and Amy clasp hands, combining their magical power for one last push. I don't see the other witches anymore. I see Diana and Faith, as well as Darla and Celeste. Riley is there with a few men, Graham not among them. There is no trace of Xander, Gunn, Wesley, or Giles.  
  
"We're too late," Tara yells over the din. "The energy is reaching critical mass. It's going to..."  
  
Her words are drowned out as the clearing explodes around us, light burning all the shadows away. I can feel my skin smolder, the demon inside screaming as something almost like daylight burns our shared flesh. Attackers and defenders alike are thrown to the ground by the force of the unleashed energy and I can feel the ground heave beneath us, the very earth shrieking in protest.  
  
Then it's over and a heavy silence spreads over the clearing like a blanket.  
  
The light ahead of us hasn't gone out, but it's burning lower now, the brightness just this side of agonizing. Something is moving inside that light. A shadowy outline even my superior senses can't quite make out yet.  
  
It's coming towards us.  
  
"Willow?" I hear Tara whisper. At the same time Amy mouths her mother's name.  
  
The light fades and we can see clearly again.  
TO BE CONTINUED 


	29. Golden Musings

The Angel's Knight #29 - Golden Musings  
  
#  
  
110 miles north of Los Angeles, October 15, 2017  
  
#  
  
"Something is happening!"  
  
"I know that! Don't you think I know that?"  
  
"No reason to be a bitch about it, I was just telling you that something is happening!"  
  
"As you are perfectly aware of there is nothing you can see that I can not also see. Therefore this remark of yours that something is happening is completely redundant. As is most of your mindless rambling."  
  
"Bitch!"  
  
"I heard that!"  
  
"You were meant to!"  
  
Silence.  
  
"Do you think it's...?"  
  
"Don't get your hopes up, girl! Believe me, it leads to nothing but disappointment."  
  
"But if we give up hope we might as well be..."  
  
"Dead? Who says we aren't? Who says that this isn't hell? It certainly fits all the specifications they taught us about in Sunday school, doesn't it?"  
  
"No, this isn't hell! It can't be! I can't be..."  
  
"God, listen to yourself, girl! An eternity in this place, or so it feels, and you still haven't learned a thing, have you? I don't know if this is hell, but if it is, then we certainly both belong here. Stop kidding yourself!"  
  
Silence.  
  
"I never meant to hurt anyone."  
  
"I'm sure you didn't. How did that old cliché about good intentions go?"  
  
"I..."  
  
"You raped your girlfriend's mind, you raised your best friend as a zombie that nearly killed a lot of people, and you ended up destroying the whole town when you tried it a second time. I think there is a name for that kind of behavior."  
  
"I'm not evil!"  
  
"That's debatable. I was actually thinking more along the lines of insanity, though."  
  
"I'm not insane."  
  
"Aren't you? I think one definition of insanity says that it's trying the same thing over and over again and expecting different results. You tried to wipe your friends' memories twice and twice you failed. You tried to raise your dead friend twice and twice you failed. How about it, girl? Want to go for third time's the charm?"  
  
Silence.  
  
"Then again, being stuck here for so long, who knows? Maybe I'm insane, too. Maybe you're not even really here and I'm imagining you because I feel so lonely."  
  
"Or maybe you're a product of my imagination. Ever think of that?"  
  
"Sometimes. But if you consider the notion that you're really holding a dialogue with yourself, you can throw all claims of not being insane right out the window."  
  
"I'm not insane! If I were I wouldn't ask myself the question."  
  
"If that helps you sleep better... metaphorically speaking. I don't remember the last time I actually managed to sleep."  
  
"I'm not sure I have slept at all that last year before... you know. There are a lot of things I've forgotten." Pause. "I'd really like to scream sometimes."  
  
"If only we could."  
  
"We can speak, can't we? I don't get why we can't scream when we can speak."  
  
"You honestly think we're speaking here? Girl, you're having a dialogue in your mind with someone that might or might not be actually here. Or maybe I'm the one doing it. I'm open to everything by now."  
  
Silence.  
  
"Do you think... all the things we've seen... are they just figments of my... our... imagination as well? Nothing but madness?"  
  
"If so I have a lot more imagination than I ever gave myself credit for, let me tell you that. I certainly never used to daydream about this kind of stuff."  
  
"Well, gigantic entities that play dice with the universe never figured much into my imagination, either. I mean, who comes up with stuff like that? I always pretty much believed in the whole good vs. evil thing and..."  
  
"And you considered yourself one of the good girls, right? Probably expected them to print a picture of you in the dictionary right next to the term 'good girl'."  
  
"It wasn't like that."  
  
"No? I've seen girls like you before. All innocent and shy, couldn't harm a fly, never an angry word. But once you look beneath that exterior things inevitably change. They always do."  
  
"Can we not talk about this, please? There are more important things to worry about right now."  
  
"Are there? Don't tell me you're still hoping that this 'something happening' thing will get us free."  
  
"But it might! Ever since we discovered that opening..."  
  
"Your imagined opening, you mean!"  
  
"I'll give you potential opening, but not imagined."  
  
"Oh, please! You think you sense some kind of pinhole in our little prison and you imagine someone might be listening on the other side. So you scream all day and all night, metaphorically speaking, in the vain hope that someone might be listening and picking up all those little facts that might just stem from our combined imagination."  
  
"You really do have a defeatist attitude, you know that?"  
  
"At least I'm not clinging to delusions of grandeur. Or refuse to recognize my own sins."  
  
"Some things went wrong, I know that! But..."  
  
"Not 'things', girl! 'Things' didn't go wrong! *You* went wrong! I know all about that, believe me! Unlike you, though, I spent the time in this prison admitting to myself what I did. I know it was wrong to do ... that ... to my own flesh and blood. I know I can never make up for that and I know I deserve hell for it. But you still lie to yourself, tell yourself that everything would have worked out just fine if everyone would just have done as you wanted them to and not been so petty as to mind a little brain- raping. God, you sicken me!"  
  
Silence.  
  
"I never meant to hurt anyone."  
  
"And we're back at square one again!"  
  
"Look, forget about that for now, okay? I really think something big is about to happen. I know someone heard me! I know someone received all that information we shouted out into the ether."  
  
"Someone like your former friends, you mean?"  
  
"I know I might have lost their friendship, but I have no doubt they are still out there, trying to do the right thing. If I can somehow get the things I have seen to them..."  
  
"They will do what? I have seen the same things you did, girl. What will they do against two all-powerful beings that play their games with whole worlds? Not for good and evil, but for order and chaos. Both looking to remake the world in their image. Either into a flaming hell of myth run wild or a realm of cold logic that will bore everyone to tears. What will your friends do against entities like that?"  
  
"We have faced gods before."  
  
"Oh, please! I saw the same images you saw, dear! Glory wasn't a god, at least not in the way those things are. She was just someone who got her hands on more power than any one mere human should have and went insane in the process. That is something we can both emphasize with, can't we?"  
  
"I... I'm not going into that again with you. My friends are coming, I know it. They will find a way to make everything right."  
  
Silence.  
  
"Have you ever considered what you might be doing to whomever is receiving all those pictures you're sending?"  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"I mean, dear, that you and I are stuck in this ... whatever it is, and in some way I won't even pretend to understand we have been given some sort of insight into what is happening, really happening, in the world around us. Fires of myth, nonexistent hell dimensions, creatures that take their form from other peoples' expectations. I've long given up hope that my mind has survived all this intact. I'm pretty sure I'm insane and I don't have too many doubts about you, either. What do you think it's doing to the person or persons who might be picking all this up, and filtered through your questionably sane mind no less?"  
  
"I... I never thought of that."  
  
"Of course not. You never do."  
  
"But... but it should be okay. At best the person on the other end should be receiving no more than a few images. At worst they should..."  
  
"Blah, blah, blah! Same old song, girl. You don't get it, do you? You always have the best of intentions, but you never once pause to consider how many people might get hurt along the way. Or that maybe people don't want or need your help."  
  
"Says the woman who stole her daughter's body."  
  
"Yes, I did that. It was the worst thing I ever did and I deserve to burn in hell for it. My point is, I had the best of intentions, too. I saw my daughter waste her youth, just like I had done. I thought I could do better. Granted, it was very selfish, but I never intended to hurt anyone, either. I fully intended to give her back her body once I got done reliving my youth. At least that was the plan at first. Somehow my good intentions didn't hold up. In the end I more or less admitted to myself that it was all about me and that I didn't care how many bodies I had to step over. And now I know how much it hurt the people I used to love. I know because this is the hell I planned to subject my own daughter to. It's rather fitting that I should be the one to burn here."  
  
"You think regretting your deeds makes it better?"  
  
"Better than denying them, that's for sure. I know what you're thinking. Not too difficult a task, seeing as we're meshed together here. You think you can somehow make everything better again. You think that by discovering all these truths - by accident only, but who cares - and giving them to someone so they can do something about it, you can somehow come out the shining heroine. No one will remember what you did because, in the end, you helped save the world. But it doesn't work that way, girl. It never does."  
  
"So what? We should just sit here and let the world go to hell? Or whatever that other place might be, the one where order rules supreme and myth has been annihilated."  
  
"We can't do anything but sit here, girl! Haven't you realized that by now? How do you think all this information is coming to us? No theories on that? How do we know all this? The Torch, the Hellmouth, all these creatures... don't you remember how you got to be here?"  
  
"I tried to do the right..."  
  
"Spare me! You tried to access the power of the Hellmouth and when it started to suck you in you tried to hold on to something. That something was me, stuck in my own little prison ever since I tried to blast my own daughter into oblivion. So now we're stuck together and we're stuck right in the middle of the greatest source of magical energy in the whole world."  
  
"So?"  
  
"For someone as powerful as you once were you really know nothing about the basic rules of magic, do you? I mean that this magical prison we conjured ourselves by way of our misfired spells and black magic might be the only thing keeping the Hellmouth from erupting. The only thing that keeps the balance from tilting headlong into chaos. And if we're freed..."  
  
"Oh my God!"  
  
"Ah, I see it's finally penetrated."  
  
"But we can't be sure that's going to happen. Our imprisonment might just be some sort of side effect. When I lost control of the Hellmouth's power I tried to seal it. Maybe I succeeded and this is just..."  
  
"You're grasping at straws."  
  
"Why do you think you have it all figured out? A minute ago you confessed that you're not even sure whether you're real, whether anything of this I real. For all I know I might be holding this conversation with myself."  
  
"Which would make you a certified madwoman. In that case you certainly shouldn't try to do anything rash. Like unleashing Hellmouths or such."  
  
"I refuse to talk to you! My friends will get here! They will save the world and... and maybe..."  
  
"Get you out? Forgive you? Praise you for helping them?"  
  
Silence.  
  
"Something is happening."  
  
"I know that."  
  
"No, something really is happening! Can't you feel it?"  
  
"What? Oh, you mean that pulling sensation? Yes, I can feel that. What do you suppose it means?"  
  
"I'm not sure. But I think I just remembered something."  
  
"Something? Like what?"  
  
"Like how to scream!"  
  
TO BE CONTINUED 


	30. Into the Darkness

The Angel's Knight #30 - Into the Darkness  
  
#  
  
110 miles north of Los Angeles, October 16, 2017  
  
#  
  
According to my watch we just passed midnight. How did the time pass so fast? We started moving into the town shortly after sundown. Where did all the hours go? Then again, thinking back, I spent nearly two days here in Sunnydale, looking for the source of all these dreams I've been having, and I don't think I slept, ate, drunk, or peed even once. Maybe time has gone all screwy in here after the Hellmouth erupted. Wouldn't surprise me in the least.  
  
So much has happened in a mere 48 hours. Most of it happened elsewhere, of course. Story of my life, I guess. Xander Harris, fighting against evil for twenty years now, but somehow I always manage to miss the really big things going down. I wasn't there when Buffy fought the Master, I only arrived later to pick up the pieces. I wasn't there when she fought Angel over Akathler. I wasn't there when she hunted down Faith or suckered the Mayor. I wasn't there when she died, giving her life for Dawn.  
  
Why am I thinking of Buffy so much right now? Oh yeah, big evil shapeshifter that tried to trick us into thinking it was her. God, just when you think the likes of Wolfram & Hart can't sink any lower than they already have. That thing is dead now and the only thing it did achieve was to get everyone well-pissed and fired-up for the big battle.  
  
Then the kid. Angel has a kid. A kid who tells us that everything we've done, everything we've seen, isn't quite what we thought it was. That things haven't happened the way they appeared to. That some here aren't even the people they appear to be. And the cause we've been fighting for? Basically a big tug-o-war between two forces that couldn't care less about us. It's all about which of them gets to lay down the law for all the universe. Order or chaos.  
  
I've got to get myself a different life. This one is way too confusing and depressing.  
  
Now this: The reason I came here to Sunnydale for in the first place. Willow. For so long I've been dreaming about her. That she was still alive, that she needed my help. I finally listened when I couldn't close my eyes anymore without seeing her face. I figured she might still be alive somewhere in this graveyard that was once my hometown.  
  
Turns out I was right.  
  
The glare before us fades slowly. The place where a larger-than-life cheerleader statue with an emancipated body on top of it stood about a minute ago is now empty. No, not quite empty. The statue is gone, but something else is in its place now. Two somethings, to be exact. Two people I never thought I'd see again.  
  
Okay, granted, I never spent much thought on one of the two, but still, you get my point.  
  
Willow is standing before us, not looking a day older than the last time I saw her nearly fifteen years ago. Was that really her body that hung on the cheerleader statue? I am not sure, but she is back. My best friend since kindergarten is back and I can't quite decide whether to run toward her for a big hug or to run for my life in the other direction.  
  
Right next to her is Catherine Madison, Amy's mom. As I said, I never spent too much thought on her after Buffy took her down. God, that was long ago. I think it was one of the first cases we all solved together, the Scooby Gang, shortly after Buffy came to Sunnydale. We were just kids then. I don't think any of us imagined the kinds of threats we'd be facing in the future. Or the kind of people we would become in the process.  
  
Catherine certainly wasn't a world-class threat. Just a bitter middle-aged witch who stole her daughter's body to relieve her glory days. Now, though? With her standing before me, also not a day older than the last time we saw her, having been stuck in the Hellmouth for two decades, I have some trouble not considering her a threat.  
  
Then the scariest thing happens.  
  
Willow and Catherine blink. Both of them. At the exact same time. With the exact same look on their faces.  
  
"Mom?" Amy mutters, fear clearly etched onto her face. The last time she saw her mother the bitch had just stolen her body and then tried to banish her to some place that, as it turns out, was a cheerleader statue. I certainly can't blame her for being a bit suspicious. Or downright frightened at that.  
  
Tara is standing right next to me and so is Oz. I didn't even notice him and his wolf pack arriving until they were tearing apart vampires left and right to help us open up a path toward the old high school ruins. He has reassumed human form and is staring at the girl he once loved. And Tara? I can't make heads or tails of the look on Tara's face, but her entire body is trembling.  
  
Everything and everyone around us has come to a stop, all of us waiting with held breath for something to happen. I see a group of black-clad mages standing opposite us, also with mixed expressions on their face. They expected the Hellmouth to open up beneath them. That hasn't happened, not yet at least. Instead they got two witches and I doubt even they know what they're going to do.  
  
Could somebody please do something? Anything?  
  
Almost as if on cue Willow and Catherine's heads snap around as one, black eyes focusing on the dark mages behind them. Identical looks of rage fill their faces and the mages have about a second to realize that running would be a really good idea now before the first of them catches fire. Moments later the clearing among the ruins is lit by a dozen and more human torches, screams filling the air.  
  
I try to move, but I can't. I don't understand what is happening here. Somebody has to explain it to me.  
  
A minute later all the bad guys are gone, burnt to ashes. The demons don't approach this place, staying outside the ruins. I can't blame them. Willow and Catherine look back towards us again, their eyes no longer black. Their faces soften, identical again, and I allow myself the slim hope that maybe ...  
  
Then they move, coming toward us. Willow stands before Tara, Catherine stands before Amy. All around me people tense, ready to defend their friends at a moment's notice. But there is no fire springing forth from their hands, no eyes filling with black.  
  
"I'm so sorry," they both say, their voices blending seamlessly into one another.  
  
Again there is silence and I guess we are, all of us, waiting for Tara and Amy to react to what just happened. Willow, my God. What happened to you? I take half a step toward her, causing both Catherine and her to look at me. No black eyes, but it still gives me the wiggins.  
  
"Willow?" I ask, not really certain whether I'm really addressing my old friend here.  
  
Her expression, both their expressions, soften. "Hi, Xander," they both say.  
  
Tara seems to come out of her shock and narrows her eyes, the air around her humming slightly. I know the signs after all these years, she is looking at things no normal person can see. Suddenly she gasps, her hand flying to her mouth.  
  
"What is it?" Angel asks her, standing with battle axe at the ready. I can't really blame him.  
  
"They're ... there is no distinction. It's Willow, but ... it's also someone else. Two auras blended into one. I've never seen ..."  
  
"My God," Amy mumbles, apparently understanding. Does Tara mean that Willow and Catherine ... God, just when I thought this couldn't get any weirder. How the hell ...?  
  
"It's what happens when you spend fifteen years trapped in a focal point of magical energy," a new voice announces and I see Angel's kid walking closer. Something about her sends shivers down my spine. Good or bad shivers? I have no idea. The only thing I'm sure of is that this little girl isn't even remotely normal. Then again, we all guessed that already, didn't we?  
  
"I know you," Willow and Catherine say, their eyes now resting on Celeste. "You are ..."  
  
"Yes, I am," she interrupts them. "And I wish we had time for the tearful reunion, but we don't."  
  
Before anyone can ask her what she is talking about this time, before anyone can wonder what Willow / Catherine was about to say, Riley's radio crackles to life and he listens to someone giving a report. His face is growing even darker than it was before.  
  
"A large army of vampires and assorted demons is gathering about half a mile north of here. They seem to be coming our way."  
  
"They will try and reach the Torch first," Celeste says. "It's the prize of this contest. They can't afford us getting it."  
  
"Okay, everyone stop for a moment," I yell, throwing my hands up. "This is all getting way over my head here. I thought we came here to stop these black magic guys from opening up the Hellmouth, only we didn't. Yet I don't see a Hellmouth anywhere, do you? Where is that giant tentacle creature we saw before? Where is the hellfire and brimstone?"  
  
Wesley narrows his eyes as he looks at Celeste. "He is right, child. We only have your word that something terrible is about to happen. I hope you can understand that we are somewhat weary at the moment."  
  
"But she is right," Cordelia interjects. I didn't even notice she had come along on the charge until now. She is blind, by God! She should be somewhere safe. "I have seen it all happening, Wesley. Angel, the Torch is down there, I can feel it. It's the source of all these extra-painful visions I've been getting."  
  
There is something of a twitch in the faces of Willow and Catherine, almost as if they suddenly realized something. The expression fades as quickly as it came, replaced by something that looks like ... guilt?  
  
"Angel," Darla pleads with him. "Celeste is telling the truth. I can't give you any logical proof for that, but I know it deep in my blood. And I believe you do, too."  
  
Angel says nothing, just lets his eyes wander across the assembled people. I don't think I've ever seen him as pissed as he is today, the rage from seeing Wolfram & Hart send that shape-shifting thing among us still hasn't faded. He has pushed it down, though. You can see it smoldering in his eyes, but he's using his brains. I guess if you live as long as he did you learn something about impulse control. I wonder if I'll ever get old enough to pick that one up.  
  
"Angel," now Celeste talks to him. "I know it's been a lot to absorb. I know that everything that has happened these last 48 hours has left you with thousands of questions and little in the way of answers. But please believe me, if we don't prevent these demons from getting to the Torch none of you will live to ever hear those answers. Our world will drown in chaos and, if we're very lucky, it might just become a place like Phylea. If we're unlucky ..."  
  
She doesn't finish that sentence and I guess she doesn't have to. Deadboy has been to Hell, or at least someplace deserving of the name if that kid is to be believed. He knows worst case, oh yes. Still, can we really afford to take everything that happened in stride without slowing down and just head off towards the next battle?  
  
Tara is still looking at Willow. Tara and I talked about our feelings for Willow once, only once. How much we both loved her, though in different ways. How much it hurt to find ourselves betrayed by her, how much it hurt to see that she didn't even feel guilty for it, didn't see the harm she had done. I look over at Willow and know that Tara still loves her, yet hates her at the same time.  
  
I know exactly what that feels like, Tara.  
  
Then there are the other people along on this ride. Darla and her child. Diana, the new Slayer. Cordy, who might already have been driven mad by her nonstop visions. Can we trust the words of any of them right now? I just don't know and part of me is very happy that I'm not the one who has to make the decision.  
  
Everyone is waiting for deadboy to decide.  
  
"I know I'm not exactly on the up and up about all this," Diana suddenly says, looking at Angel, "but a huge demon army coming to lay claim to this Hellmouth thingy? If nothing else, we shouldn't allow that to happen, right?"  
  
Well, if we ever needed someone with a little perspective around ...  
  
"You're right," Angel says after a moment. "We can't allow that to happen."  
  
The decision made, everyone explodes into action. Riley and Graham start coordination what is left of our own little army. Oz tears himself away from staring at Willow and gathers his wolves, all of them shifting back into animal mode. Angel, Diana, and Faith take quick stock of what weapons we still have available.  
  
And Celeste is talking to Willow / Catherine.  
  
"Why haven't they tried to stop you from interfering?" Willow / Catherine asks.  
  
"I am not part of their game, which is kind of the ultimate irony. They don't see me, because I am not supposed to be here. They don't see her, either."  
  
Her? Who is she talking about? Celeste is gesturing towards someone who ... who is that? Was that woman there the whole time? Why didn't I ... Dawn?  
  
"In order for us to stop them both ..." Willow / Catherine begins.  
  
"I know," Celeste interrupts her again. I thought I had just seen someone else standing there, but I guess I was mistaken. Man, I really need some sleep. Fat chance of that happening anytime soon.  
  
"Is there no other way?" a voice that hails from two mouths but sounds like a single person asks, two faces wearing identical expressions of pain.  
  
"I wish there was, Willow. Catherine. I really wish there was."  
  
Some part of me is screaming to put a stop to all this. Something is monumentally wrong here, something we have to prevent from happening. It's like the feeling I had on our final day of school when I just knew that I wouldn't survive graduation. Only I did and the feeling turned out to be wrong. This time it's a thousand times worse.  
  
I don't say anything, though. I don't walk up to those three women (or is it four?) and ask any of the million questions I have on my mind. I feel like I'm caught up in some kind of current, carrying me along helplessly, my path, all our paths, already laid out before us. It's like we're actors in a play and can't deviate from the lines, no matter how much we might want to.  
  
"The demons have started moving," Riley yells. "They'll be here in two to three minutes."  
  
"The ruins will provide us with some cover," Angel says. "Have everyone spread out, we'll try to pick them off individually as much as we can before they get here and ..."  
  
"No," Celeste suddenly cuts him off, stopping him in his tracks.  
  
"What do you mean no?" he asks her, his rage still smoldering in his eyes. The kid's credit wasn't really big to begin with and if she's trying to tell us how to fight now ...  
  
"We must face them where the prize is," Celeste says.  
  
All our eyes are drawn to the spot where the cheerleader statue stood a couple of minutes ago. The one where the Hellmouth should have erupted, but didn't. Something did happen, though, happened so quietly that none of us noticed until now.  
  
There is a hole in the ground. I can just make out a staircase, hundreds of steps leading down into the darkness.  
  
"Down there," Celeste concludes. "We have to fight them down there."  
  
You know that feeling I was talking about? I just got a lot stronger again.  
  
TO BE CONTINUED 


	31. Memories of Deaths Gone By

The Angel's Knight #31 - Memories of Deaths Gone By by Philip S.  
  
Summary: As the final battle approaches and the prize comes within reach a lot of old memories come to the surface. Spoilers: Everything up to the end of Buffy S5 / Angel S2. Everything after that is different.  
  
Rating: PG-13  
  
Disclaimer: All characters taken from the TV shows Buffy and Angel are property Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. No infringement is intended. Archive: Story will be archived at www.shadow-dancing.com. Everyone else please ask!  
  
#  
  
110 miles north of Los Angeles, October 16, 2017  
  
#  
  
Okay, even with but two weeks of life experience to draw on, I do know a few things. Such as that it's a really bad idea to fight an approaching army that, by all accounts, has us way outnumbered, from within a hole in the ground. And if I know that, shouldn't all these military types around here know it, too?  
  
Well, from the sour look on their faces they do, but nobody complains. Not this Finn guy, not Graham, not Angel. I don't, either. I'm not exactly sure why. Maybe this is just destined to happen this way. Maybe it can't happen any other way than this. The last stand of the good guys to ward off the forces of evil. Isn't that how it always ends in the fairy tales? Maybe this is all a fairy tale, too, and we're just acting it out.  
  
The steps lead us down into the darkness. I hear Mr. Harris mutter that it didn't look like this the last time he was down here. Why am I not surprised about that? Again I have to think of that roller coaster analogy Faith told me a day or so ago. The only thing you can do is hold on and see where the ride takes you. That sums up my life pretty well, at least those parts of it that I can remember.  
  
I can't tell how deep we've gone when we reach some sort of chamber. It looks like a building sunk down here. There is rubble everywhere, something that looks like it started out life as an altar of some kind. A large cross over in the corner. A church maybe? There are candles everywhere, but none of them is lit, the only sources of light the flashlights we brought along. For some reason I feel like the candles really should be lit. Have I been here before? I seem to remember a place like this.  
  
"This was the Master's lair," I hear Angel say. "This is where he was trapped when the Hellmouth's energies captured him."  
  
The Master? Yes, I remember Fred giving us all a short summary of the things she suspected about the Hellmouth. Not the greatest sort of entertainment on a two-hour car ride, but it was better than just staring out the window and being alone with my own thoughts. I don't like the way my thoughts have been going as of late. Especially since I confronted that doppelganger of Buffy Summers up there.  
  
I remembered something then. I don't know what it was, but I remembered. Whatever it was, it convinced me beyond the shadow of a doubt that this thing could not be Buffy Summers. What was that? Buffy died when I was but a year old. How could anything that I remember from my past connect me to her?  
  
There is a pool of dirty water over there in the corner and suddenly my legs refuse to move. I stop, staring at that water, and something creeps up my spine. A chill, a feeling of such immense terror that I can feel myself starting to shake.  
  
"Diana?" someone asks and I almost jump. It's Angel. Did he sneak up on me or was I just too preoccupied? "Is everything all right?"  
  
"I ... I don't know. That water over there ... I feel like ... almost like I've been here before."  
  
He looks over and for a moment the terrible rage still churning behind his eyes seems to lessen, replaced by some kind of bitter remembrance.  
  
"This is the place, right?" I hear Faith ask from behind me. "Where B ... I mean..."  
  
"Yes," Angel quickly cuts her off, obviously not interested in further discussion. The place where B ... what? B is Buffy, right? Faith has a nickname for just about everyone and judging by Angel's reaction I doubt we're talking about anyone else but Buffy, the love of his life. Why am I getting chills over a place where something happened to Buffy? What kind of connection do I have with her?  
  
I look at the water again and suddenly I feel faint. I remember falling, bonelessly tumbling forward until my face hits the surface of the water. Cold water, so cold. Everything is cold, even me. I can feel my life seep out of me through a throbbing pain in my neck and the earth beneath me is shaking. Somebody is laughing, someone whose voice sounds like ancient sandpaper.  
  
I want to move, but I can't. Something is happening all around me, something important. I can feel the ground split apart, I can feel the fire burning deep beneath me. A fire that seeps into my every cell and fills me to the brim. Something is leaving me, something bright and powerful, but even as it leaves something else is there. Something that comes from below and burns bright, so bright.  
  
For what seems like an eternity the world around me seems to swim, a lake of liquid fire I'm immersed in. It burns, but it doesn't hurt. Quite the contrary. It feels incredible, as if all the power of the universe is right there at my fingertips. I feel like I can do anything, everything, whatever I want.  
  
Then there is a voice, urgent words trying to penetrate the fire that has embraced me like a lover. It calls my name. My name? Do I have a name? With the name come memories, so many memories. I didn't even realize I was missing them until now.  
  
The fire fades, retreating back underground. No, not completely. I can still feel it there, still burning far brighter than it should. Something has happened. Someone has fanned the flames, called upon their power for his own purposes. Something dark and putrid is ascending from below and I know it's only so because a monster wants it to be. A monster that is even now heading for the surface, my blood pulsing in its veins.  
  
I open my eyes and there is a face there. A face that is familiar, yet at the same time completely new and strange. A young man, no more than a boy, with tussled dark hair and a look of concern.  
  
"Buffy?"  
  
I feel the water rise up my lungs and my body is present again. I have a body. Heart beating in my chest, blood running through my veins. I'm alive again. I thought I was dead. I was certain I was going to die, knew it the moment I decided to come down here. I was so afraid, but I came anyway. Because it's my destiny. Because otherwise all my friends would pay the price.  
  
"Xander?" I speak his name and I remember him. Just as I remember the man standing next to him, the man whose dark eyes look at me with so much love visible in their depths.  
  
"Angel!"  
  
"Diana, are you all right?"  
  
I blink and the world comes back into focus. I'm standing in the buried church, still staring at the body of water that, for some reason, sends chills down my back. It happened again. I remembered something, but now it's gone. Something about ... it's all gone. Damn! Give me a break already, will you?  
  
"Sorry," I tell the concerned vampire at my side. "Just spaced there for a second."  
  
He frowns, not quite believing me, but there is too much else on his mind right now. Things like the demons I can almost hear advancing behind us.  
  
"There are more stairs over here," someone yells. The chamber is already filled with people, the remains of our army. But I don't think we've reached our destination yet.  
  
We're underway again, going further down. Yet another flight of ancient- looking steps, leading down deeper into the dark. Putting one foot in front of the other doesn't require too much thinking, so my thoughts go back to that strange episode from a minute ago. What did I remember? What was it about that place that unnerved me so?  
  
Something about death. Something about fire.  
  
"Faith?" I hurry to catch up with her.  
  
"What is it, kid?"  
  
"You said something up there. Something about that being the place where ..."  
  
She gives me a concerned look, and then looks past me to where Angel is leading our troop down into the dark. Her voice, when she speaks again, is barely more than a whisper.  
  
"Did Wes tell you how that two Slayers thing came about the first time?"  
  
"Yes, he said something about one Slayer having to die for the next to be called, but that it works even if that Slayer doesn't stay dead. But seeing as you didn't die anywhere in the recent past I don't see..."  
  
"It happened before, kid. Two Slayers before me. B ... Buffy, she died. Right up there in that chamber. That Master guy bit her, then left her to drown in that pool of water you were staring at."  
  
My face hits the surface of the water. Cold water, so cold. Everything is cold, even me. I can feel my life seep out of me through a throbbing pain in my neck.  
  
"Angel and the Xan-Man found her and brought her back via CPR. But by that time a new Slayer had already been called. Chick called Kendra. When she died it was my turn."  
  
Something is leaving me, something bright and powerful, but even as it leaves something else is there. Something that comes from below and burns bright, so bright.  
  
"You okay, kid?"  
  
I blink and once again the world around me comes back into focus. Only this time I remember. I remember being in that chamber before. I remember ... oh my God, I remember dying.  
  
"Faith ...," I begin, not sure how to say this. "Did you ever ... I mean, when Buffy was still around and you were both Slayers at the same time ... did you ever share memories or something?"  
  
She gives me a confused look. "Memories? No, I don't think so. We shared dreams once or twice. I felt it when she died the second ... the final time, but memories? No. Why are you asking me all this?"  
  
I shake my head, how am I supposed to explain this to her? Maybe it's something I picked up from Cordelia. Maybe, by sharing that vision she had about Buffy's death, the second death, I also got a package pertaining to her first one? Okay, so the vision wasn't like that, like it was happening to me, but still ...  
  
"I just ... I got a creepy feeling from that pool up there. I just thought ... I don't know what I thought."  
  
Faith doesn't seem convinced, but lets the matter drop for now. I guess we all got more important things to worry about right now then some freaky memories I somehow picked up from a person who died when I was but a toddler.  
  
"Just be ready, kid! You did pretty good with the demons up there, but I have a feeling it's only going to get more fucked up the deeper we go."  
  
I nod. The charge into what remains of Sunnydale was almost surreal to me, as if I was just watching as someone else took charge of my body and made with the fighting moves. I mean, I've only fought one fight in my entire life (as far as I can remember) and that was a training bout against Faith. But up there I was slicing and dicing demons like an old hand. Well, maybe not as old as Angel or Faith, but you know what I mean.  
  
"By the way, kid," Faith interrupts my train of thoughts, "when did you find the time to do that?"  
  
"Do what?"  
  
She motions her flashlight toward my head. "Put those blond streaks in your hair. Just between you and me, blond and black don't really go together that well."  
  
Blond streaks? I pull at my hair, looking at it. How the hell did I end up with blond streaks?  
  
Also, was Faith always taller than I am? I could have sworn we were about the same height when we sparred this morning. Was that really just this morning?  
  
Something very strange is going on here.  
  
TO BE CONTINUED 


	32. The Belly of the Beast

The Angel's Knight #32 - The Belly of the Beast  
  
#  
  
110 miles north of Los Angeles, October 16, 2017  
  
#  
  
Darla:  
  
We enter a chamber and I recognize it. I have seen it in my dreams. Reason says that it's impossible for a place this huge to exist beneath Sunnydale. The impossibly high ceiling should cave in under the weight of the city, even in its ruined state. Reason, I'm sure, has no place here.  
  
Stone pillars abound around us, impossibly ancient, yet seemingly untouched by the forces of time. A flickering light fills the giant chamber and we all know where it comes from. We cannot see it yet, but we all know it is there. We can feel it.  
  
With every step we take my mind seems to become clearer. For so long I had no idea what I was, who I was supposed to be. I am not Darla, I know that now. Darla died many years ago, reduced to dust by Angel to save the life of the girl he loved. Vampires don't come back from true death.  
  
Wolfram & Hart created me and made me believe I was Darla. For someone ... something like me, belief is all it takes. I believed I was Darla, therefor I was Darla. I had her memories, her habits, everything. But I wasn't her, could never be her. I think Angel knew it, deep down he knew it. That was why he could never kill me.  
  
I look at Celeste, my beautiful daughter. Angel's daughter. She has opened my eyes to the truth. I am what circumstances have made me, a creature of myth that adapts to the tale it is set in. Wolfram & Hart needed me human, so I was human. Then they made me into a vampire, so I was a vampire. Then Celeste was born and she needed me to be something else. A person that could keep her safe in daylight as in the night. Someone who could be there at all times.  
  
And now that I know? Can I be what I want myself to be? If yes, what do I want myself to be? The undead seductress? The helpless human in need of a savior? The whore who wouldn't repent even on her deathbed?  
  
I am none of these things. What do I want to be? I don't know. Maybe I'll never know. But I do know that the one skin I ever felt comfortable in, the one role that ever felt natural to me, was the one of Celeste's mother. My beautiful girl. I will keep you safe, no matter what. Heaven or hell, order or chaos, good or evil, angels or demons, I don't care. They'll have to go through me to get you.  
  
No one will ever be allowed to hurt you.  
  
#  
  
Giles:  
  
My parents always wanted me to be a watcher, as everyone in our family had been for generations. Only they are not my parents, never have been, and the time when my very being adapted solely to the expectations of others is over.  
  
Rupert Giles died decades ago. He was a foolish young man, drunk on the power of magic, a victim of his own overconfidence. He died bleeding in the rain, buried beneath a rusting car, forever forgotten even by those who helped put him there.  
  
As I walk through the underground chamber, passing rows upon rows of stone pillars, I find in myself the resolve I always thought was the result of my training, my upbringing. It wasn't. Whatever it is, it's solely mine. A Watcher wouldn't have tried to take Buffy's place when she went to fight the Master. A Watcher wouldn't have disregarded the Council over the Cruciamentum test.  
  
My life before coming to Sunnydale is but a shadow, the best effort a hollow creature could produce at being a dead man. It was only here, among the only real family I've ever known, that I came to be alive and whole. Stuffy Englishman, dashing rogue, father figure for a group of teenagers whose own fathers never deserved the name? All that is me. Part of what I am, part of what I want to be.  
  
How much of it resulted from their expectations? I don't know, neither do I care. It is the life I have led, the life I want to lead. Knowing what I know about myself I wouldn't change a thing. Nothing important anyway. I would still be there with them, would still keep doing what I am doing right here, right now.  
  
I look at Darla, the other who is like me. A creature of myth, or that is what Celeste called us. Born from the fires of the Torch, the very prize we are fighting for here today. Something that could never have existed in a rational world, but we are far away from the rational world now. Darla knows it, too. Strange that this person whom I've never met before should be the closest thing I have to a sister.  
  
The teenager walking by her side flashes me a grin and I find myself smiling back. I have my suspicions about her, about who and what she is. I don't know whether I or anyone else here will live long enough to find out for certain, but it doesn't really matter. We are doing what we have always done, the one thing we do better than anyone else. Saving the world. For the first time or the hundredth, it doesn't really matter. This is our part in the story, that is what we are here for.  
  
The light in front of us grows brighter and we no longer need the flashlights. Light and shadows dance along the walls, along the pillars, over our faces. I look at the people here with us and I see the same determination in all of them. Are they afraid? Yes, only madmen wouldn't be. That fear doesn't matter, though. Not today.  
  
I look at the girl, Diana, the new Slayer. Something is different about her now, has been different ever since she confronted that thing that made itself look like Buffy. Was that also someone ... something like me? Something that was told to be Buffy, therefor it was? We'll never know now, I guess. But Diana? I can see her changing even now, as if the proximity of the Torch is burning through the fog that surrounds her young mind.  
  
What are you going to become once all the illusions and lies are burned away? And why can't I help the feeling that I already know?  
  
#  
  
Tara:  
  
I look at you and am almost torn apart by conflicting emotions. I never loved another person like I love you, Willow, and it hurts so much. It hurts that I still love you, even after everything you did, both to me and to others. Why can't I stop loving you? Even now I think it would take nothing but a single one of your kisses to wash the past away.  
  
Willow and Amy's mother, Catherine Madison. I look at them and there is no dividing line between them. No separate auras, nothing that says they are two different people apart from the fact that they happen to have two separate bodies.  
  
The main reason I left all these years ago, the main reason I ran away from Sunnydale, wasn't that Willow had raped my mind. It wasn't that she had gone behind my back and tried to raise Buffy as a zombie. All that hurt, hurt almost more than I could bare, but it wasn't what drove me away.  
  
It was when I looked into her eyes and saw no regret. She didn't think she had done anything wrong.  
  
We are walking through a giant chamber deep beneath the Earth, what could be the most important battle of our lives just minutes away, and all I can think of is you, Willow. Just moments ago I caught myself trying to come up with some idea on how to help you, to separate you and Catherine without killing either of you.  
  
I wish I could let go. The air around us is charged with power. I can feel destiny approaching, bearing down on us like an express train. Closing my eyes, I turn my vision inwards and see the dark stains in my own aura. Hatred, unresolved rage, so many things I have never been able to face. Today they might kill me. I need to be focused. I need to be clean.  
  
Our prize comes into view, but I have no eyes for it. Something else has to come first. I approach Willow and Catherine, both their heads turning to look at me. Two mouths open to say something, but I cut them (her?) of.  
  
"I have to say this," I tell her, only looking at her face, not really caring how many people are looking out from behind those eyes. "What you did to me ... I don't think I can ever forgive that. And I will never understand how you could justify it to yourself. But all that doesn't matter right now, not anymore."  
  
I swallow. I have waited so long for this. I have seen a scene like this in both my dreams and my nightmares. They never seemed to differ much. Now it's real, or as real as anything possibly can be in a place this far removed from the mundane world. Here, now, I can finally say the words I wanted to say for so long.  
  
"One thing has never changed. The year we were together was the happiest time of my life. It made me the person I am today. And I wouldn't change it for the world."  
  
The look on Willow's face (and on Catherine's probably, but I don't look at her) almost breaks my heart.  
  
"I never wanted to hurt you," she whispers in that strange doppler-voice.  
  
A hundred vicious replies buzz through my heads, a thousand verbal ways of hurting her right back for how she hurt me, but I swallow them all. This isn't about revenge. This is about me being free.  
  
"I know that," I simply answer, leaving the rest unsaid. Your intentions were always good Willow. You always wanted everyone to be happy.  
  
I turn away from her, from them, and I can feel two pairs of eyes boring into my back. It matters no longer, though. The important things have been said. The rest ... well, maybe if we somehow manage to survive all this. Maybe.  
  
#  
  
Faith:  
  
The prize comes into view and I can't hold back a gasp. It's not because of the great visuals, though they are breathtaking as well. It's at least as tall as the statue of liberty, maybe bigger. A big honkin' cup like something out of a medieval movie and it's filled with fire, flames dancing towards the distant ceiling of this impossibly huge underground wonder- cave.  
  
What makes me gasp is the feelings, though. I have never been good at putting them into words, always been more into action than words. Now I wish I had the words to describe how this thing makes me feel, words apart from 'fucking great' and 'really wicked'.  
  
I look at this giant thing before us and, even if that kid Celeste hadn't told us a thing, I'd know what it was. I can feel it from here, the power inside that giant contraption. God, it makes me tingle all the way down to my toes. Celeste said that the origins of the Slayer lie here, that we were made directly from that thing to protect the balance between the supernatural and the mundane.  
  
Right now I believe it. Every single word of it.  
  
Becoming the Slayer was the best and the worst thing that ever happened to me. The best because I had never before had anything even resembling purpose. I wasn't living, I was just existing, waiting for the world to fuck me over as my drunken whore of a mother always told me it would. The worst because it gave me more power and responsibility than I could handle at that age. I wasn't ready for it, I was a borderline basket case, and it pushed me right over the edge.  
  
For the last sixteen years, ever since I felt B die all the way from my prison cell, I knew that I had to be the Slayer now. I had to live up to that responsibility, whether I was ready or not. There was just me, no one else. No one to take the blow, no one to lead where I need only follow. Just me.  
  
And now, standing here, staring into the flames, I know. I am the Slayer. Whatever doubt I might have had left is gone, burned away by that fire. I am the Slayer. I have a purpose, and it lies right here, right now.  
  
Odds are I will be dead before the night ends. I have never felt so alive before.  
  
#  
  
Diana:  
  
I am changing.  
  
I stare into the flames and I know I'm changing. Not just in my mind, where phantom memories dance, darting back and forth to show me glimpses, but never more than that. My body is changing. This body, which I have supposedly lived in for seventeen years and change, is transforming right before my eyes. Not just my hair, which is almost completely blond now.  
  
I have grown shorter, just a little, but noticeably. My skin tone has changed, paleness giving way to a natural tan I never had. My face feels different, the bones having shifted, almost like a vampire's game face.  
  
I am not afraid. Some part of me seems to know what is happening and finds it good, knows that it is right. This body, this changed body, it feels comfortable and familiar like an old, well-worn pair of jeans.  
  
Memories are returning, but I doubt they are those of Diana Knight. There is one thing I'm pretty certain of by now, a knowledge that has manifested itself more and more clearly with every step we took through this underground cavern. I'm not Diana Knight. She died that night on the way to the hospital and whatever ... whoever came back, it wasn't her. It was me. Whoever I am.  
  
I remember a conversation. Someone telling me that I could go back, but that I wouldn't remember my name, my life, everything that I am. That I would have to find out for myself. I remember resigned acceptance, as if such things had happened to me before, as if I knew the strange and roundabout ways this game is played.  
  
The flames of the Torch are flickering high above me, but it feels like I'm looking directly at them, as if they were reaching out to embrace me, welcome me back like a long-lost lover. I have been here before. Not like this, not with these feet, not by going this way, but I've been here before.  
  
With a gasp a memory comes flooding back, the same I've seen in the chamber above. I remember dying. Falling forward, cold liquid closing around me, all that is keeping me alive leaving in a rush of warmth. But I can't go, I know I can't go. There is too much left undone, things I need to take care of. Something is there, something to replace the warmth with. Something that can be whatever I want it to be.  
  
Then another memory, another time I died. I know that I have to give my life to save the world, my blood is all that stands between the lives I'm sworn to protect and complete destruction. I do what must be done, give my all, but this isn't the end. The thing inside me, the thing I took with me from the chamber above when I died the first time, isn't going away. It's still there, waiting for me to tell it what to do, what to be. My life is gone, my blood spilled, but death won't take me. Something is keeping me alive.  
  
I want peace. I remember that now. I so longed for peace. Rest. I didn't want to have the weight of the world on my shoulders anymore. I wanted someone else to step up, to make the hard choices. I wanted a place where there was nothing but peace, where I knew the people I love would be safe and I could lay my arms down at last.  
  
I got what I wanted. I got what I expected. And now I know it was a lie. Nothing but smoke and mirrors, no more real than the hell dimension Angel spent centuries in, no more real than the giant tentacle creature the Master unleashed.  
  
I know who I am. And I know they lied to me when they sent me back. Those bastards lied to me.  
  
#  
  
Angel:  
  
It's the most beautiful thing I have ever seen, but we don't have time to sightsee. I can hear them moving, hundreds of feet hurrying down the steps to claim the prize before we can. Only I don't know anymore whether we should. What will happen if we win this battle for the Powers That Be? Do we want them to win? Do we want anyone to win?  
  
Only one thing is certain. We can't allow the others to win. Those things that are rushing to fight us, vampires, demons, dark witches, mantises, zombies, all the creatures the darkness of human imagination has ever spawned, they can't be allowed to get their hands on this, no matter what.  
  
We have to fight, no matter who maneuvered us into this conflict, no matter the reasons. The alternative is unthinkable.  
  
I know something is happening to Diana. I can see it, but even more important, I can feel it. But I can't! It can't be happening, I can't allow it to happen, can't allow myself to even consider it.  
  
Because if it's happening, if it's true, then the rest is also true. The vision Cordelia saw. The thing that will happen here, with us.  
  
It can't happen! Please, God! Don't let it happen!  
  
TO BE CONTINUED 


	33. The War to End All Wars

The Angel's Knight #33 - The War to End All Wars  
  
#  
  
110 miles north of Los Angeles, October 16, 2017  
  
#  
  
Xander:  
  
Okay, so we are standing in this huge underground cavern that looks like a set from those old Lord of the Rings movies. Right in the middle of it there is this giant Torch thing, apparently the source of all supernatural creatures and beasties in the whole wide world. That's the prize. Whoever gets his hands on it decides the future of the world. Or something like that.  
  
When we went down here we were worried that we wouldn't have room to fight effectively, but we needn't have worried. The cavern is the size of several football fields and there are plenty of rock formations and pillars to give us cover if we need it.  
  
Looking at the entrance we came in through I guess we'll need all the cover we can get.  
  
The bad guys come pouring in, demons of all shapes and sizes. Vampires, a lot of them. Zombies. Ms. French's little baby Mantises, all grown up and mean. Things I never saw before and certainly never needed to see, thank you. There are hundreds of them and they are all coming at us.  
  
There were about 400 of us when we initially invaded the remains of Sunnydale. Half of those were Initiative soldiers, well trained and equipped with the best toys Uncle Sam's money can buy. The other half was our boys, the demon hunters trained under the roof of the Angel Foundation. What we lack in precision marching skills we make up in enthusiasm. Most of these guys joined the good fight because they lost someone to the monsters.  
  
Well, there are plenty of monsters to go around today. At first glance I'd say we're outnumbered about three or four to one, but the demons are still pouring in, so the odds can only get worse. I wonder why I'm so calm.  
  
Maybe it's what that Celeste kid said. We live in two worlds, the mundane and the supernatural. Right now, standing at the foot of this Torch, we are about as far from the mundane world as one can possibly be. Reality has no place here; we are in the middle of a myth. A new story in the making? Or simply acting out a classic tale of good against evil? I don't know. All I know is the bad guys are coming at us and, being the good guys, we have to stop them. It's really as easy as that.  
  
Riley barks some commands and the troops fall into formation. Angel and our other heavy hitters form up as well. Something strange is going on with that Diana kid, she looks different somehow, but there is no time to think about it for too long.  
  
Anya. I wish I could be with you and the kids right now, honey. I love you, you know that? I hope I said it often enough. I hope you know that you made me happier than I ever thought I could be, that you made me a better man. Take care of the little guys for me, will you? And please remember I'll always love you.  
  
Then the battle begins.  
  
#  
  
Faith:  
  
This is the part about being the Slayer I never had any trouble with whatsoever. I see this army of demons coming at us and I'm not afraid. Quite the opposite, actually. The Slayer, that thing inside me that gives me strength, is positively giddy with excitement at having so many targets so close at hand. This is what I was made for. Protecting the Torch, keeping the world from sliding down into supernatural oblivion.  
  
I think I'm laughing out loud as I meet the first wave of vampires head-on. Angel is beside me, all stoic and intense as ever. And Diana? Something has changed about her and I'm not just talking about her hair, which is almost completely blond now. Her face is different, her body, almost as if...  
  
God, this has got to be the ultimate joke.  
  
For a brief moment I'm almost frozen as a multitude of old feelings begins to well up. This, if nothing else, tells me that this is the real thing. When that thing upstairs appeared, that monster masquerading as Buffy, some part of me knew from the start that it wasn't real and kept all the old emotions bottled up.  
  
Not this time. Regret, so much regret, and words I never had the chance to say. Anger and jealousy. I'm the Slayer now, have been for sixteen years, longer than anyone else in recorded history. What right does she have coming back at the final battle, trying to steal my thunder? Happiness. The best few months of my old life were spent fighting side by side with her. Confusion. How is this possible? Why now?  
  
A moment later reality, or whatever passes for it around here, reasserts itself. We're in the middle of a battle and I can't afford to space out now. And really, considering this could be the big battle to end all battles, what better partner to have at my side?  
  
For a brief moment our eyes lock and I know that she knows. Unless she played us all (and somehow I don't think so) she must have figured it out sometime these last few minutes. Maybe this really is what it looks like. A genuine miracle dropped into our palms at the very last second. And for once it's not working against us.  
  
B and I share a smile before we head right into battle again.  
  
Time flies and I don't know whether we've been fighting for minutes or days. I really don't give a damn. I know we're taking casualties. This isn't the movies where the good guys fight off hordes of bad guys without ever taking a scratch. Right in front of me an Initiative soldier is gutted and I can't do anything but avenge him, taking out the demon that is still busy licking his blood off its claws. Even the myths aren't as squeaky clean as Disney makes them out to be.  
  
It takes seeing Gunn struck down not five feet away from me to finally break the high of fighting and ishatter into a thousand little pieces.  
  
"Gunn," I hear myself screaming, shoving everyone out of the way that stands between his collapsing form and me. I manage to catch him just before he hits the ground, but it only takes a second to see that I'm too late. Half his fucking chest is missing and his lifeblood is pouring onto my lap.  
  
"Don't do this to me, you jerk," I whisper to him, feeling my eyes sting with tears. It wasn't supposed to go down this way. We had this cycle going between us. Being together for a year or two, then hating each other's guts for about the same time. On and off, on and off. He wasn't supposed to die on me like this.  
  
If this were the movies he'd be saying some sort of final words right now, one last confession of love or whatever it is he felt for me, but these aren't the movies. He was dead before he even fell into my arms, his eyes staring up at me with nothing behind them.  
  
I clench my fist, his blood squishing forth from between my fingers. It wasn't supposed to be like this.  
  
#  
  
Willow / Catherine:  
  
"Goddess, did you see that? Faith just ... she's like a wild animal."  
  
"We all fight to protect what is dear to us, Willow. And when we fail to do that the only thing left is revenge."  
  
"No, that isn't true. We're here to save the world. Anything else ..."  
  
"Oh, so you're not secretly hoping that helping in this battle is going to sway Tara and the others when it comes to you? Don't forget, dear, our thoughts are pretty much one and the same here."  
  
"You think Amy will forgive you because you just incinerated a few demons with those lightning bolts of yours?"  
  
"I can but hope. At least I'm not a hypocrite pretending this is all for the greater good of mankind. I don't give a shit about mankind. The only one of importance to me is my daughter and I'll incinerate every single living being in this cave if that's what it takes to keep her safe."  
  
"Well ... I hope you are not to averse to keeping the others safe as well. We could use a lightning bolt over there."  
  
"Focus! We need to do this in tandem."  
  
"There, that's better! I think our combined magic is actually getting stronger the longer we stay here."  
  
"The Torch is the source of all magic, Willow. It goes to reason that ... there's more of them! Concentrate! We need to keep them away."  
  
"No problem! With this much juice running through us we can ... Goddess! Buffy? BUFFY?"  
  
"Willow, you're losing your focus!"  
  
"But that's ... don't you see? That's Buffy. That Diana kid, the new Slayer. It's Buffy!"  
  
"Willow, stay focused, damn it! We saw this happening, remember? It's one of the images you picked up from the Torch and fired right into that poor girl's brain. We knew Buffy would be here for the final battle. Stay focused on the fighting!"  
  
"But ... this is what I ... do you think maybe I ... we ... did we somehow ..."  
  
"This is not the time for you to go back to your great 'raiser-of-the-dead- friend' routine, Willow! We are in the middle of a battle and the others ... Amy! Oh God, Amy! AMY!"  
  
"What ... oh no! No! Catherine, I didn't ... I'm ..."  
  
"GET OUT OF MY MIND!"  
  
#  
  
Giles:  
  
I have just enough time to see the bodies of Willow and Mrs. Madison both erupt in white flames before I'm blinded, the world around me reduced to black and white spots. Hairs all over my body are standing up straight as power crackles through the room, magical forces unleashed.  
  
By the time I regain my vision almost half the enemy force seems to have burst into flames, demons screeching in pain as their flesh is eaten away by a fire that can't be extinguished. I can feel it resonating in the air. Hatred! Pure undeterred hatred and rage. A moment later I can see Amy's dead form lying on the ground, a dying vampire's teeth still buried in her jugular, and I know where it came from.  
  
Willow and Mrs. Madison both crumble to the ground, their own flesh scorched and eaten away by the unleashed power. I wish I had time to check whether they might still be alive, but the odds of that are slim and we need to use the advantage they have given us. The sudden shock of losing half their number in a matter of seconds spreads through the demon army like wildfire and they hesitate, stumbling around in confusion.  
  
Riley is still alive and rallying the troops for a final push forward. Faith is like a dervish, moving freely through the ranks of our enemies and leaving dead bodies and settling dust in her wake. Angel fights like a man possessed, all the rage he has built up manifesting itself in a grim determination his opponents are helpless against. And Diana ...  
  
Diana is Buffy.  
  
On some level I knew it, I think, but seeing her here, now, is still a shock. And I know, somehow I know, that this isn't a trick this time. Not like that shape-shifting demon from earlier, not a creature much like myself, not another dirty trick by Wolfram & Hart.  
  
She is alive. Dear God, she is alive.  
  
Just a few minutes ago I found my resolve. Whatever I started out as, whatever force brought me into this world and shaped my being, I have chosen who I am going to be. Rupert Giles. Watcher. Protector. Guide. Father of a family that has nothing to do with blood and everything to do with love and friendship. A family that is whole once more. Buffy is here.  
  
I throw myself into the battle with renewed vigor and I know, just know, that we are going to win this. Not because we are righteous, not because this is a fairy tale where the good guys always win, but for the simple reason that my family is here, all of them.  
  
And we save the world. It's really that simple.  
  
#  
  
Angel:  
  
I have no idea how long the fight lasts and I don't care. I see friends and comrades fall and my heart weeps, but I don't allow it to slow me down. With the fires of the Torch burning behind me I know that this battle is too important to allow anything to stop it. We must win this or our world is lost forever. There are no second chances; no rituals or spells that can undo what will be done if we fail. We have one shot to make this right and we'll use it.  
  
The battle finally ends, not with a bang, but with a whimper. The final demon dies as I impale him on my sword and when I look around there are no further targets to be found. The ground is littered with bodies and the bodies are covered in settling vampire dust. To my right the carcass of a Mantis is still twitching, but everything else is still. The flames of the Torch cast an eerie light over the field of slaughter we have created.  
  
Faith is still standing, a blade in each hand, her entire form covered in blood, both human and demon. A wild look is on her face, but I can see the sobs threatening to break free from her throat. She stands closest to the Torch, her back to it, daring any of the dead demons to get back up and give it another go.  
  
Celeste is still alive. I don't think any of the demons ever came close to her and the reason for that lies beside her. Darla looks beautiful, the few drops of blood clinging to her skin like rose petals. I can't see the wound that killed her from here, but I can smell it. Even through all this blood and chaos I can smell it, the essence that so closely mirrors that of my Sire running away and taking her life with it.  
  
She hasn't crumbled into dust.  
  
"Goodbye, mommy," Celeste whispers, a tear in her eye. "I promise things will be better soon."  
  
I take my eyes away from the child, my child, something I haven't begun to come to terms with. Everything happened so fast. So incredibly fast. It's barely been two days since the final survivor of this war we fought here walked into the lobby of the Hyperion for the first time.  
  
Diana. Who isn't Diana. She is Buffy. Denial shatters as my eyes come upon her and for a moment I think I can feel my heart beat.  
  
#  
  
Buffy:  
  
I know who I am. I know why I was sent back here. All my life, my first life, they had me fighting in a war that was not my own, fighting for purposes not my own. For the sake of the world, or so they told me, and in part they were correct. They just never told me what world they were talking about.  
  
They sent me back because they wanted an ace up their sleeve. I wasn't dead, but I believed I was and they used that belief for their own gain. Ripped me out of my self-made heaven and sent me tumbling back into the world, my mind fragmented and torn because too much knowledge would have made me a danger to them in turn.  
  
I stare at the battlefield, stare at the blood that covers my body like armor. I am alive again, reborn from a fountain of blood, and it's at the same time oddly fitting and too disgusting for words. This, all this, is just a game to them, I know that now. Two bullies in the playground, trying to decide who gets to be the boss around these parts. Two puppet masters making their toys fight in mock combat. The stakes, to us, are as high as can be. To them this is no more than two boys playing a video game over a signed baseball card.  
  
Angel looks at me, recognizes me, and my heart constricts. They used him, too. Used him to build them an army. Used my love for him to lure me out of my heaven. They used us all, so many lives lost for their game, and now it's almost over.  
  
Almost. But not quite.  
  
In one of the few spots not covered with bodies, blood, and gore the air shimmers and a shape appears. I've seen it only twice before and that was decades ago. A short man, overweight, dressed in outdated clothes and a funny hat. The slightest smile on his lips.  
  
"Whistler," Angel growls. I know he has figured it out, too.  
  
"Angel," Whistler smiles. "Great job, really! You did it! You won the fight. Now all you have to do is claim the prize." He gestures toward the Torch.  
  
Faith stands in front of the Torch and I realize something else. She is the Slayer, has been the Slayer ever since Kendra died. Me, I'm something else now. I ceased being the Slayer the day the Master killed me, I only refused to see it. With the fires of the Torch burning inside me, that great power that could be anything I wanted it to be, I managed to replenish everything I had lost. Two Slayers, but only one of them the genuine article.  
  
"It won't happen, fat guy," she snarls at the burly demon. Only he's not a demon at all, really. He is something much greater. "Protecting the Torch is my gig and no one is going to lay a hand on it."  
  
I manage a proud smile.  
  
"This is unnecessary, people," Whistler continues, an edge of worry in his voice. "You won! The war is over. You only need to make it official."  
  
He is looking at Angel, at Faith, at me. Interestingly enough his eyes slide right past Celeste without so much as a flicker. Does he even see her? I don't think so. And ... there is somebody else here. Somebody who seems to get more real with every moment. Dawn? Yes, she is here, too, though I can't quite see her yet. But that's okay. I can feel her.  
  
"The war isn't over," I tell Whistler, stepping forward to stand beside Angel. There are so many things I'd like to do right now, so many things I'd like to say to him. Only there isn't time. There's never time.  
  
Angel looks at me and I can see right into his soul. He has seen a vision of the two of us fighting each other. Here. Now. For the fate of the world.  
  
And now he knows why it must happen that way.  
  
TO BE CONTINUED 


	34. The Only Way to End It

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Once again, thank you all for the many, many reviews I've received for this story. We are closing in on the end here, people, and I hope you enjoyed the ride. Only a few more chapters to go and I hope to get them done soon. Thank you for your support in all this.  
  
And, of course, please take a look at my first original novel "I, Lucifer", now for sale. See my homepage shadow-dancing.com for details.  
  
Enjoy!  
  
#  
  
The Angel's Knight #34 - The Only Way to End It  
  
#  
  
110 miles north of Los Angeles, October 16, 2017  
  
#  
  
The look of confusion on Whistler's face is a sight to behold. When I first met him all these years ago, when he came to show me Buffy and recruit me for his cause, I was torn between wringing his neck and kissing his feet. He had given my life purpose, shown me the light that would dispel the darkness around me, but he also frustrated me to no end.  
  
Now I know what he is, what he does, and why. Celeste opened my eyes and in this place, where the fires of the Torch burn brightly, I can see through all the lies and catch a glimpse of the truth. Whistler is not a demon, not an agent of some kind of higher power. He is the higher power. One of two players in a cosmic game of chess. Both sides have lined us up like pieces on a board to battle for the fate of this world, to decide which of them gets to shape this world's future.  
  
I look at the blonde woman standing by my side, the one I thought I had lost forever, and I see and understand so much now. I know what we must do to save this world and it tears my heart right out. I once told Doyle that Buffy and I don't belong to ourselves, but to the world, that our own happiness always comes second to our duties. A thousand times I wished that it wasn't so, but it has never been more true than today.  
  
Whistler narrows his eyes and something almost like anger creeps into his eyes.  
  
"It is over," he repeats, disputing Buffy's earlier worlds. "The battle is done. The First Evil's army has been defeated. There is no one left to fight, Angel. Claim the prize! Get it over with!"  
  
"And what happens if we do?" Buffy asks, taking a challenging step forward even as one of her hands slides into mine, fitting together as if they were made to do so. Feeling her warm skin on mine, sense of touch reaffirming that she is really here, I almost start to fear for my soul.  
  
"Evil will be banished forever," Whistler answers Buffy's question. "Never again will this world be threatened by demons or vampires. You will be released from your duties, finally free to live the normal life you always wanted. You will be..."  
  
"I will be dead," Buffy interrupts him. "You know very well what I have become, Whistler. You tore me out of the heaven I created for myself. I might have started out as a Slayer, but I'm something else now. Just like Angel isn't simply a vampire anymore. Just like Darla and Giles were something different."  
  
I can hear her voice quivering with emotion when she says Giles' name. He lies dead on the floor, not ten feet away from us, having given his life to stop the First Evil's army from reaching the Torch. Dead like so many of our friends and family.  
  
"We know what will happen, Whistler," I tell him, keeping all emotion out of my voice. "If we claim the Torch, then you win. All supernatural forces will be banished from the world."  
  
"Yes," he quickly emphasizes. "You knew this was our goal, Angel. To banish the demons, to..."  
  
"Not just the demons, right?" Buffy gives him a humorless grin. "Everything. Witches, werewolves, fairies, neutral creatures, every sorcerer, adept, and creature of myth. What will happen to them when magic is ripped away from this world, Whistler?"  
  
He doesn't say anything, just glares at us.  
  
"They will all die, won't they?" I ask him, already knowing the answer. "Everyone and everything connected to magic and the supernatural will die. Your shiny and perfect world will be paid for with the blood of thousands."  
  
Whistler still doesn't say anything, but suddenly the air by his side shimmers and wavers, almost like a curtain being drawn back. A figure steps forth from the distortion and I can feel my human features slip away as I recognize the newcomer.  
  
"Manners," I growl.  
  
"Hello, Angel," the Wolfram & Hart lawyer says, looking as immaculate as ever. "I was hoping we'd meet one last time before this was all over."  
  
Whistler gives him a dirty look.  
  
"You have no place here. Your army was defeated."  
  
His army? Suddenly I understand. Holland Manners died, killed by Darla many years ago. He returned, though, appearing as a specter of some kind and, through a simple elevator ride and some choice words, almost managed to drive me to suicide. Only it wasn't him. It was someone ... something else. Something that tried to drive me to suicide once before.  
  
"The First," I snarl at it, my rage only increasing.  
  
"I always knew you were smarter than you let on," the First congratulates me. "And I do think I have a place here, 'Whistler'. After all, as the young lady here said, the battle isn't quite over yet."  
  
Whistler shakes his head. "It doesn't matter what they say. Only one side remains standing. Even if they refuse to claim the prize for me, I still win. There is no one left to claim it for you."  
  
The First smiles and looks at me with a grin on its stolen face. "Isn't there?"  
  
I share a look with Buffy and we both understand the rules of this game they are playing. There is no one left to fight for the First, so even if we do not claim the Torch, Whistler wins by the simple fact that his warriors are the last ones standing. There is only one way to end this battle in a way that will not turn this world into Hell or buy its peace with the blood of thousands.  
  
Only one way.  
  
I look at Celeste, my child, the one whom neither Whistler nor the First seem able to perceive. Her mere existence is a miracle. The mere idea that something living could spring forth from that night of death and pain Darla and I shared ... it boggles my imagination. I smile at her and she smiles back. She is not human, I know that. How could she be, with us for parents? I think I finally understand everything, including what she is and why she is here. I only wish there was more time. Isn't that a laugh? An immortal wishing for more time?  
  
Buffy comes up to me and there is no need for words. We never needed words between us, not when it counted. I look into her eyes and I see everything. What she went through, how tired she felt that day when Glory threatened to ascend back to godhood. Why she tried to sacrifice herself and what happened afterwards. I see and I understand.  
  
Both of us lean forward at the same time and our lips meet in what I know is a farewell kiss. My mind can't help but flash back to the last time we kissed like this, the moment when my soul was restored right in the midst of battle. I didn't know that, right behind my back, Akathler was threatening to swallow the world. I didn't know what she would have to do, but I knew it was a goodbye kiss even then.  
  
If only there was more time.  
  
Finally, after what seems like an eternity and yet much too short a time, I break away and walk towards Faith. She has truly come into her own, more than ever before. Seeing her standing there, the fires of the Torch burning behind her and framing her like a halo, I know that she will do what's necessary. Our eyes meet and the understanding between us is almost as deep as the one I shared with Buffy. I love Faith and I know she loves me. Not in a romantic way, but in that of family.  
  
The look in her eyes says she, too, has figured out what must happen now and there are tears running down her cheeks.  
  
"I need you to keep something safe for me," I tell her, the look on her face almost breaking my heart. She swallows hard, then nods.  
  
I close my eyes, preparing myself for what has to happen. If the world as we know it is to survive this battle must continue. Unless someone steps up to fight for the side of the First Evil the war is over and Whistler wins. We are playing a terrible gamble here and I know that the player I'm about to bring into the game won't be interested in following the rules.  
  
I'd pray for our success but I'm no longer sure anyone is there to hear my words.  
  
With a single motion I rip away the bloodstained remains of my shirt and bring my hand to rest where my heart hasn't beat in over 250 years. I keep telling myself that this is the only way even as the rational part of my mind damns me for a fool. How can I even consider doing this? How can I not do it, considering what is at stake?  
  
I can feel Buffy's presence behind me and I know she has slipped into a fighting stance, retrieving weapons from the fallen to use in the upcoming battle. The final battle. One way or another, this is it. Right here, right now, with nothing less than the world as a prize. Whistler and the First Evil both are staring at me and I think they have both figured out what is going to happen. The First grins, even as Whistler looks more than a bit anxious.  
  
Under anything approaching normal circumstances something like this wouldn't be possible. The Gypsies dipped into dark magic, necromancy of the highest order, to place their vengeful curse upon me all these decades ago. It took Willow, a budding witch with a near-limitless potential for power, to do it a second time.  
  
These are not normal circumstances, though. We are standing in the nexus of magic, the very center of all things myth. Supernatural power suffuses the air around us, crackles through the walls and the floor and the ceiling. Everything is possible here if only we believe it can be done.  
  
A strange feeling of serenity overcomes me as I feel my hand sink into my chest and grasp that which can't be grasped.  
  
"Angel," I hear Faith whisper, but her words have become meaningless now.  
  
The pain hits me a moment later, a searing fire that pumps through my veins as if my heart were still beating and driving it on. My hand emerges from my chest and the glare is almost blinding. A light, almost like a small star, is cradled within my fingers and, even as I watch, curls into a nearly perfect sphere and becomes solid. My eyes lock with Faith and I offer it to her, her trembling hand taking it just before my strength runs out.  
  
The last sensation I feel is the floor as it comes up to meet me and then everything grows dark.  
  
Things are about to get very interesting.  
  
TO BE CONTINUED 


	35. Buffy and Angelus, One Last Time

The Angel's Knight #35 - Buffy and Angelus, One Last Time  
  
#  
  
110 miles north of Los Angeles, October 16, 2017  
  
#  
  
If there is one good thing about becoming a ghost, it's the fact that you get to watch a lot of things you couldn't normally. When I was a kid and everyone knew I was there they always tried to keep things from me. For my own good, of course. Couldn't let little Dawnie know about the big bad things that roam the night, even if it was my own sister who went out to fight these things. That simply wouldn't do, would it?  
  
Of course most of these memories are fake. I know that. I know a lot of things now. As I said, being invisible to the world allows you to pick up quite a few facts without anyone noticing. I was there when Celeste gave Giles the whole revelations talk thing and explained his origins to him. Which, come to think of it, are pretty close to my own, aren't they? I, too, am a thing that was told to be somebody and did such a good job of it that no one noticed, not even myself.  
  
For a while, at least.  
  
The big problem is that, and don't ask me how, I was tied to my sister, or the woman I believed to be my sister. Buffy, the Slayer. I loved her, really did, despite all the mean things I sometimes said to her. Then everyone found out what I am and what I was supposed to do and Buffy died for me. She died when it was me who should have died and told me that I had to live for her now. Only I couldn't do that since, without her around, I started to fade.  
  
And now? In the span of less than an hour everything has turned upside down. Buffy is back, has been back for a few days now, only no one noticed. For a while, at least. In some way she has been brought back as a girl of seventeen, younger than me now, and thought her name was Diana. Only it's not. She's Buffy. She's back.  
  
For how long, though?  
  
I know what is happening. I understand why it's happening. I know that there is nothing I can do about it. None of the above makes it any easier. My sister was just returned to me, damn it! Can't they give us even a minute to just be happy about that? No, of course not! Instead we are plunged right into the middle of the bloodiest battle I ever saw (and that's saying a lot, seeing as I accompanied Angel and his people without them knowing about it on a lot of missions). Now just about everyone I ever loved, my entire adopted family, lies dead here in this underground chamber, something I'm sure I can't afford to think about right now.  
  
Everyone is dead except Celeste, Faith, Buffy and Angel. Only Angel isn't looking so good right now, either.  
  
I watch as he rises to his feet and in that simple movement alone it's evident that he is no longer the man I have known for so long. There is arrogance in the way he moves, cockiness, and an almost tangible aura of malevolence. When he looks up there is a cruel smile on his face and his eyes ... his eyes are completely empty, devoid of all humanity and compassion.  
  
"Hello, lover," Angelus says, his eyes locked on Buffy. "I didn't expect to ever have this pleasure again."  
  
"Enjoy it while you can," Buffy says, returning his stare.  
  
God, I don't even know what to think right now. Buffy is back and Angel ... he did this to himself. The one thing he's afraid of more than anything and he did it to himself. I know why, I know how this must end, but ... God, can't we have a break for once? Why is this happening? Somebody has to explain to me why this has to happen!  
  
I look over to where the two bad guys are standing. The First Evil and the Powers That Be. I doubt those are their real names, if they have names at all. Celeste told us about them, told us why they are doing this. It's just a game to them, nothing but a really fancy boxing match, and all their money's riding on the outcome of this battle. The one that was already finished when Angel ... did that to himself.  
  
"Interesting plan," Angelus says, casually strolling closer to Buffy. "I switch sides at the last second by becoming my old self and so the battle goes on, neither side a winner just yet."  
  
He stops just out of kicking range and his smile turns into a leer. "Really, Buff! Do you expect me to just play along with your and Soulboy's little racket here? I thought you knew me better than that."  
  
"You don't have a choice," Buffy growls, but still not moving.  
  
"Don't I? Well, I could always just let you kill me and then you'd be in the exact same position as before, only without your star-crossed lover by your side. Wouldn't that be something?" He cocks his head to one side. "But no, can't really see myself doing that. Sacrificing my life for a cheap punch line? No!"  
  
He locks eyes with her once again and all the taunting vanishes from his face. "Guess I'll just have to kill you and then claim to Torch to unleash Hell on Earth, don't I? How does that sound for fun?"  
  
Buffy takes her eyes off him for half a second and looks at me. She can see me? I want nothing more than to run to her and assure myself that she is real, that I am real, but there is no time for that. Before I can even blink her eyes are back on Angelus and a moment later both of them start to move.  
  
The fight is fast and furious and I don't have the words to describe it. They both move so fast that their shapes are becoming blurry. I can hear the impacts of fist on flesh and the breaking of bones, but neither of them slows down. I feel tears running down my cheeks, but I don't take my eyes off them.  
  
I know of a handful of times they fought before. Really fought, I mean, not just sparring with each other when Angel was his good self. I think that, except for that time when Buffy had the flu and could barely stand up straight, she was always able to get the better of Angelus. Barely. But that was years ago, so many years. Since then many things have changed.  
  
Not the least of which that Angel, while his good self, has drunk the blood of a Slayer from Buffy's veins, making him stronger than he ever was before.  
  
There is no sound in the cave except their movements, their grunts of pain, Angelus' occasional laugh of pleasure when he manages to get a hit in on Buffy. The fight is five minutes old and both of them are starting to slow down from exhaustion. I can see Angelus' eyes and there is nothing but madness there, madness and a never-ending bloodlust.  
  
Buffy, her sweat-soaked hair plastered to her face, is pure determination. I would never have told her that, but I always admired that in her. No matter how painful things were, no matter how hard it seemed, she always went ahead and did it anyway. She never gave up. I know we are not really sisters, Buffy, but I love you. Please don't do this! Please live! For me!  
  
They fight on, their movements now clearly showing the pain they are both in. They use everything around them as weapons, snatching them from fallen warriors of both sides, using every advantage they can get. It almost looks like a dance they're performing, but I never saw a dance that left both participants bleeding and broken. It's violence, pure and simple.  
  
Why does this have to happen? Buffy died to save the world twice! Why couldn't they give her a break just this once? I look over at the two bastards who caused all this and I see them watching with anticipation, each of them silently cheering on their champion in this sick and twisted game. God, if only there was something I could do. There has to be something.  
  
Who am I kidding? I'm a ghost. Just because a few more people can see me now that Buffy is back doesn't mean I can do anything. Cordelia said something about me having a lot of power inside me, but she's dead now just like everyone else. I don't know what she meant; I don't know how I can possibly do anything here. I wish someone would tell me.  
  
I see Celeste standing close to Faith, who is watching the battle intently. I can see it in her eyes, teary like my own, that she would like nothing better than to jump in there and stop this from happening. Her hands cradle the glowing sphere that is Angel's soul, fingers brushing across its surface, and I wonder how it feels like to hold a soul in your palm. I doubt Faith even notices. Just like me she has figured it out. Figured out how this battle must end. Just like me she doesn't want Buffy to die, doesn't want Angel to die, but it's not her decision to make anymore. It's all out of our hands now.  
  
"There must be something we can do," I whisper to Celeste, knowing her answer before she even opens her mouth. "We can't allow this to happen!"  
  
"It must happen," she says without taking her eyes off the fight. "It's the only way." She turns to look at me and her eyes are so full of compassion that I can feel my heart skip a beat. "I wish there was another way, Dawnie, but there isn't. The game offers but two endings, neither of them acceptable. This is our one shot at changing the rules and writing our own ending. It has to play out."  
  
I know she is right, but that doesn't make it any easier.  
  
A cry of pain from Buffy snaps me out of my thoughts and back to the fight. She has stumbled, her ankle twisted painfully, and blood is running down her face, obscuring her vision. The sword she had a moment ago goes tumbling away into the mass of bodies covering the floor.  
  
Angelus is still on his feet, a huge broadsword in hand, and goes in for the kill. No, this can't be happening. Please, this can't ...  
  
At the last second Angelus spins away, foregoing the perfect opportunity to win this fight. He stops a few steps away and his grin threatens to split his face in two. What the ...?  
  
"Not that easy, lover," he says, sounding incredibly smug. "Do you really think I'd fall for that?"  
  
Buffy rises again, panting heavily, and I see that her left hand is clutching a stake. She was faking it, trying to lure Angelus in.  
  
"Worth a try," she quips, but her voice is raspy, shaking. She can't keep this up much longer. Angelus has to be just as tired and worn out as she is, but you'd never know it from the smile on his face.  
  
"I've seen you look better, Buff. Don't tell me you're getting tired already! I waited so long for this, I want to enjoy it as long as I possibly can."  
  
"Cut the bullshit, Angelus," she snarls at him. "You're only here because we needed you. You're nothing but a shadow, a half-remembered nightmare that kept Angel awake some nights. He is ten times stronger than you will ever be and in the end no one will remember you, only the man who gave his all to save the world."  
  
"I guess that very much depends on who wins our little fisticuffs here, wouldn't you say? And right now, babe, you're not looking like a winner to me."  
  
"Says the guy with the wrinkly forehead and the overbite!"  
  
They're bantering? Now? I can't believe this. What are they doing? God, this is insane to the highest degree.  
  
A moment later the battle is on again, Buffy and Angelus tearing into each other with renewed vigor. I don't think I can watch this anymore. Buffy is going to get herself killed, again, and once again I can't do anything but stand around and look stupid. It's my turn, damn it! I was supposed to die to stop Glory's portal from opening! Not Buffy, me! Why does she have to die again when it wasn't even her turn the first time?  
  
And then, without warning, it's over. Buffy makes a wrong step when the impact of Angelus' sword on her own reacquired weapon drives her back and slips in a puddle of blood. Reacting so fast I can't even see him move Angelus drives his weapon forward and runs Buffy through with three feet of steel.  
  
Oh my God, no! This can't be happening! No, please no!  
  
Buffy cries in pain and Angelus laughs, driving her further back and into one of the giant stone columns that support the roof of this underground chamber. The tip of the sword explodes from Buffy's back in a shower of blood and is rammed into the stone, pinning her to it like a butterfly. I can't look at this! It's just a bad dream! It has to be!  
  
Angelus just laughs.  
  
"You might not be quite human anymore, lover," he whispers to her as she convulses in pain, "but I bet this will kill you nevertheless."  
  
A moment later his fangs are buried in her neck and Buffy screams, a scream that tears right through me and leaves me a sobbing mess on the floor. It wasn't meant to happen this way. Not this way! Buffy wins, it's what she does. Sometimes she dies doing it, but she wins. Why isn't she winning? It isn't supposed to go down like this!  
  
It seems to take forever until Buffy grows still and Angelus finally lets go, his mouth smeared with blood, his eyes glowing with triumph. This isn't Angel, Angel would never look like this. Angelus is nothing but an animal and ... my God, this animal just killed my sister and won the war.  
  
"Well," the thing that looks like a lawyer said. "It looks like this prophecy we manufactured about Angel playing a vital part in the apocalypse turned out right after all." He turns to look at the thing beside him, the one that wears a silly hat and looks like a pouting child right now. "Don't you want to congratulate me?"  
  
"I think I should be the one to receive the congratulations, don't you think?" Angelus turns away from Buffy, licking his lips. "In fact, I think I should be the one to ..."  
  
Suddenly he falls silent, a shudder running through his body. His demon face vanishes, melting back into his human mask and he looks confused. What is going on here? Why is there a ... is that a bloodstain spreading on his chest?  
  
He turns round and ... Buffy's got her eyes open. Her face is white as a sheet, she looks more dead than alive, but there is the barest hint of a smile on her lips.  
  
"Who says you don't fall for that?" she asks, her voice barely more than a whisper as Angelus looks back and forth between her and the stake that has been thrust into his back and now protrudes from his chest where his heart should be.  
  
A moment later he explodes into ash.  
  
Faith takes off running the moment he does, appearing at Buffy's side so quickly it seems as if she teleported. Buffy's eyes close, the hand that thrust the stake into Angelus limply falling to her side.  
  
"B? B, talk to me!" Faith is crying openly now, but doesn't even seem to notice. Why is she crying? Buffy won, didn't she? It was all just a fake- out to get Angelus to get close. I know that that isn't true, I know that she planned it all this way, but for a moment my mind refuses to acknowledge that. Buffy won. Everything should be fine now. Just fine.  
  
Except Buffy isn't breathing.  
  
"She's dead," Faith snarls, twisting around to gaze at the two bad guys with blazing eyes.  
  
The lawyer and the guy with the funny hat look at each other.  
  
"Well now," the lawyer starts, his eyes sweeping the battlefield around him. The one where no one is moving anymore. The one where everybody died. "This is certainly ... unexpected."  
  
TO BE CONTINUED 


	36. The Resolution

The Angel's Knight #36 - The Resolution  
  
#  
  
110 miles north of Los Angeles, October 16, 2017  
  
#  
  
I think I've gone insane again.  
  
I've been there before, you know? Of course back then I would never even have considered the thought that I might be insane. The insane don't know they're insane, do they? But it felt exactly like this. You look out at the world around you and you know, you know without a shadow of a doubt, that none of it is real. Not in your head, no, but deep down in your gut. You know it's just a stage, the people just cardboard cutouts, all just there for my amusement, a sandbox for little Faith to play in. Therefore nothing you do is of importance, nothing has consequences, it's all just one big fake and you play along for the hell of it.  
  
Thinking like that made it easy to kill people. How can you kill someone who isn't real anyway? I knew better even then, but I didn't allow that knowledge to touch me. I kept it hidden somewhere in the dark and locked it away.  
  
I feel the same now. I look at the world around me, this underground slaughterhouse we have entered what feels like weeks ago, and I see all the people I've ever loved, my family, lying dead on the floor. Everyone, including the closest thing I've ever had to a sister. They're all dead, but it's not real. It can't be real. I have to keep telling myself that it isn't real. Just a charade, a stage play we put on to trick the two people ... things I'm looking at right now.  
  
As long as I keep telling myself that I might be able to keep myself upright a little while longer.  
  
"This has never happened before, has it?" the fat guy with the funny hat says - Whistler, I think - looking around with a confused look on his face.  
  
"I wouldn't think so," the lawyer guy answers. "I'd certainly remember it if we'd seen this before."  
  
I look at them and I can feel the animal inside me rattling in its cage. It's always been there, the thing that likes nothing better than to hunt and kill and doesn't care what its prey is. I've let it run free once, let it take over, and I've sworn never to let it happen again. But I want to. I want to let it out, let all the darkness come pouring up and out and tear these two to pieces over and over again.  
  
"Get out of here," I hiss at them, my blood-drenched hands clenching into fists without any conscious effort.  
  
They both look at me as if I was an insect that just did an interesting trick.  
  
"The war isn't over," the lawyer says, though he doesn't sound one hundred percent certain anymore. "We need to do ... something."  
  
I feel someone standing by my side and look down to see Celeste there. For a moment everything inside me screams to kill her, to make her pay for getting us into this. She was the one who brought us here, who set all this up. If not for her my family would still be alive.  
  
It takes nearly all the strength I have left to reign in the animal and lock it away again. I can't allow myself to slip now. It's all just a stage show, nothing else! None of this is real! You need to be strong, Faith! My inner voice sounds remarkably like Wesley. Wesley, who is lying over there on the floor and ... I need to keep the stiff upper lip, need to keep my fucking wits together. Just a little longer.  
  
The two bad guys still don't react to Celeste's presence.  
  
"Lend me your voice, will you?" Celeste asks, smiling a sad smile.  
  
I don't know what she means, but moments later I do. I can feel something inside me, something that has always been there and yet feels brand new and shiny. It's the buzz I feel whenever I go on the hunt, the humming that came over me when Diana ... B was near. It's the fire that flows through my veins when I fight all-out, no holds barred. It's all that and more and right now it's welling up my throat and into my mouth.  
  
"Your war is over," I hear myself saying, but I have no idea where the words are coming from. Or maybe I do, but the idea is just too ridiculous to even contemplate. "All your warriors have fallen and there is no one here to claim victory for either side."  
  
Whistler looks at me and shows me the attempt of a smile. "Well, technically you fought on our side for a long time, so ..."  
  
"I'm not one of your warriors," I answer. I would have known that one without someone or something else putting words in my mouth. "I'm the protector of the Torch and while I may have aided your cause I've never fought in your name. Neither of you has a claim on me and I'm the only one left."  
  
I'm not, of course. There is Dawn, there is Celeste, but both of them seem to have some kind of invisibility going. What is Dawn doing here anyway? I could have sworn ... I don't think I even thought about her once during the last ten years or so. As if I completely forgot she even existed for a while. But she's here now. Why is she here?  
  
"You have laid down the rules of your game eons ago," I continue, saying things that bypass my brain and go straight onto my tongue. "You can't fight yourselves, you can only manipulate others into doing so. You can recruit new warriors for yourselves, but only until one side is completely wiped out, then the game is lost. Both your sides are gone, there is no one left to fight and none of you may recruit anyone new. The game is over."  
  
The two of them look at each other, both of them trying to think of something to say, something that will dispute what I just told them. How do I know about the rules of their game anyway? But I get the feeling I understand. I know why things had to end like this, why it was the only way. And now I understand. I finally get it all.  
  
And I finally figure out who ... what Celeste is.  
  
"But ...," the lawyer begins, "there has to be a winner. It can't ..."  
  
"It's a stalemate," I interrupt him. "Ever played chess? Happens all the time there. Neither of you wins, neither of you gets to have this world."  
  
"Now wait just a minute!" Both of them seem angry now. "If you think we'll just ..."  
  
"What will you do?" I ask them, a challenging smirk on my lips. I'm not sure I put it there, really. "Abandon your own rules? Quit the game and make all-out war in person? Fight yourselves instead of letting your pawns do it? Risk your own existence for the sake of this one little world?"  
  
I take a step toward them and it gives me a feeling of indescribable elation to see both of them take a step back.  
  
"Somehow I don't think you will!"  
  
For a long moment the entire world seems to hold its breath. I don't know how powerful these two things that pretend to be people are, but after everything I've seen I doubt the world would survive if they start tearing into each other. We just double-dog-dared two primal forces to start unleashing forces that could pulverize us all and we've bet everything on them backing down rather than letting loose.  
  
If we got this wrong...  
  
The lawyer looks at Whistler and shrugs. "This has certainly been an interesting game, hasn't it?"  
  
"Frustrating," the other says. "But interesting, yes. I'm almost sorry to see that it's over."  
  
"Oh, but it's a great ending, isn't it? If for no other reason than we never had one like this before."  
  
"Granted. Though I kind of hope it will be a while before we see its like again."  
  
"Took the words right out of my mouth."  
  
A moment later two bodies drop to the ground. One looks like it has been dead for decades, a decomposed corpse wrapped in a 5000-dollar-suit. The other melts like the Wicked Witch of the West and leaves nothing but a stain and a funny hat.  
  
They're gone. Both of them. They're gone. Just gone.  
  
And just like that things stop being fake and reality comes crushing in.  
  
It takes me a moment to realize that the gurgling sound I hear is coming from me, tearing free of my throat as the blanket of denial I've wrapped around me tears right through the middle. They're dead! All of them, they're dead! We saved the world and everyone died! Everyone except me, the one who's supposed to give her life for the world! Why did they all have to die? Why didn't I die, too?  
  
I don't know how I got to the floor, where all these tears are coming from, and I don't give a damn. My family is dead and I'm alone. We saved the world, but it wasn't worth this prize. Not this prize!  
  
After about five minutes or so I notice that Celeste is standing beside me, trying to get my attention. And Dawn. Dawn is also here. I don't know how that's possible, how she can be here when I didn't even remember she existed for so long. But I don't care right now. I can see it in her eyes, so much pain, and somehow it makes my own a little less painful. She is no longer a kid, she's a grown woman, but she'll always be little Dawnie to me. During those few months in Sunnydale when B and me were okay she was like my own little sister.  
  
We don't need words. Her arms wrap around me and I can feel her tears mix with mine as we embrace. Oh god, I never thought anything could hurt so badly, but somehow having someone there with me makes it a little bit better. Just a little bit.  
  
"She did it again," Dawnie sobs. "Wasn't once enough? Did she have to give her life for the world three times? Isn't that two times too many?"  
  
"Even once is too many, half-pint," I whisper to her. "But that's what she did. That's just what they all did."  
  
I don't know how much time has passed and I don't really care, but finally I realize Celeste is still there, trying to get our attention, and I look up at her.  
  
"Is it over?" I ask her. "Or do yet more people have to die for this fucking world?" The bitterness in my own words almost makes me flinch, but what do you expect? My family died to save this piss-poor planet and no one will even know. What about all those people who depend on us? The kids in the shelters? What will happen to them now? And what will happen to the world the next time some vampire wants to summon a greater demon or such?  
  
"No more dying," Celeste whispers. "But it's not quite over yet."  
  
I look at her, confused.  
  
"Dawn! There is something you need to do now while we still have a little time left! Something only you can do."  
  
"What?" Dawn asks, every bit as confused as me.  
  
Celeste just smiles.  
  
TO BE CONTINUED 


	37. Third Time's the Charm

The Angel's Knight #37 - Third Time's the Charm  
  
#  
  
110 miles north of Los Angeles, October 16, 2017  
  
#  
  
I'm not a child.  
  
I'm coming up to my 32nd birthday in a few weeks and I expected that, just like my last dozen or so birthdays, I'd have to celebrate it alone, amidst a crowd of friends and family who neither see nor remember me, who have forgotten that a girl called Dawn Summers ever existed.  
  
Only it won't happen that way this year. All my friends and family lie dead here, all of them except Faith. Just when they started noticing me again they were taken away. I know why it had to happen; I know it was our only hope of saving the world as we know it. But still ... whose idea of a cruel joke was it to give me back my sister (and thereby my own existence, it seems), only to take her away again but a few days later, but minutes after I finally recognized her? Does someone up there think this is funny?  
  
I cried, Faith cried, and I don't think either of us has any tears left now. We lost everything down here, gave it all up for a world that doesn't give a shit. Life's not fair, I've known that for a long time, but this is pushing things, really, really pushing things. It's as if the world goes out of its way to hand the good guys all the shit they can handle and more, just to stay true to that old cliché about the easy roads leading to Hell.  
  
And now Celeste tells me that it isn't over, that there is something left to do. Something that I have to do. What can I do? I'm an apocalyptic one- shot, that's me! I had my chance to bring about the end of the world when Glory tried to sacrifice me and it caused the death of my sister. Never before or after has this whole Key-thing done anything for me. No funky powers, no visions or celestial knowledge, nothing. So what am I supposed to do now? Maybe pick up a sword and kill Faith and myself for good measure? That would fit into the trend here.  
  
She's smiling at me. What does she have to smile about?  
  
"Remember when Cordelia told you about Glory?" Celeste asks me. "Remember when she told you what she really intended to do and how you fit into it?"  
  
Cordelia? You mean the woman lying dead about thirty feet over there? The one who died in this battle you got us into? I wonder why I don't say any of that out loud. Maybe spending over a decade as a ghost has robbed me of the talent to be direct.  
  
"She said I was a key to power," I remember her words. "Some kind of tool for harnessing energy."  
  
Celeste nods. "Glory's world, the one she ruled like a god, also had a Torch, Dawn. Every world has one, or every world that is part of this cruel game the Powers That Be and the First Evil are playing. In Glory's world she created a Key, you, in order to harness that power. Only she lost it all when her world came up as the prize in the latest round of the game and she was banished here along with you."  
  
Great! So I'm a tool to harness the power of a world that was ... what? Destroyed? Turned into Hell? Remade into a cold and sterile place of perfect order? Just peachy! That will look good on my résumé.  
  
Faith is looking at Celeste with narrowed eyes, anger, sadness, and weariness mixing together into the kind of explosive cocktail that has sent her off the deep end more than once. Does she know something I don't?  
  
"You can fix this," Faith suddenly jumps at Celeste. "I know who you are! You can fix this! You have the power!"  
  
She knows who Celeste is? "Faith? What are you talking about? How can anyone fix ...?"  
  
Faith grabs Celeste and pulls her close until they are nose to nose, giving her a glare that would make plants whither and die. Celeste doesn't even blink.  
  
"I figured it out," she forces out between clenched teeth. "When you used my voice to scare off those two big-wigs! You only did this all for yourself, didn't you? It was all to ensure that you survived, nothing else."  
  
I'm still missing something here, ain't I?  
  
"She is the Torch, Dawnie," Faith says, guessing my thoughts. "She is the prize they all fought for, the big teddy bear at the stand. And she didn't want to go home with either of the fuckers who played, because either way it would have ended up with her royally screwed."  
  
She is the Torch? I look back and forth between her and that giant pillar of flame behind us. I can feel the power churning inside it, no wonder everyone wanted it. But Celeste? How can she...?  
  
"She is right, Dawn," Celeste says calmly. "I knew this world was coming up in the game. I knew I had to do something. If the Powers That Be had won I would have been snuffed like a candle. If the First Evil had won I'd have gone out in one final blaze of power that would have blanketed the world. Either way I'd have been dead."  
  
She gives me a look that, for the first time, makes her appear like the young girl she pretends to be. "I didn't want to die," she whispers.  
  
I almost stagger back as a memory forces itself to the forefront of my mind. A fake memory, I know that, but that doesn't make it any less powerful. It was twenty years ago, give or take, and I had only just found out that my big sister was sneaking out every night to do this cool superhero stuff she did. I followed her to the Sunnydale High school library that night and was right there to hear Giles tell her that she was destined to die fighting the Master.  
  
The look on her face nearly killed me right then and there. I had never seen her so scared. Buffy was supposed to be strong and brave. She wasn't supposed to be scared.  
  
"I don't want to die," she whispered. I didn't want her to die, either.  
  
"But it's okay that we all die for you, right?" Faith snarls at her, wrenching me back to the present. "Think everyone else can bite the big one because you're just fine? Well think again, kid! You've got all this power stored up there, enough power to turn an entire world into Hell. Use it for something good for a change! Bring my friends back!"  
  
Can she do that? What am I saying, of course she can. This Torch thing is supposed to be what gave life to all the demons and vampires, made all the myths and stuff real. It can give life, can't it? It can bring them all back.  
  
"I can't do that," Celeste says, shattering all my hopes in a heartbeat.  
  
"Bullshit!" Faith tightens her grip on the girl.  
  
"Don't you think if I could have done something like that I would have done it sooner?" Celeste asks her. "It took all I had, all the strings I could pull, just to give myself this mortal form. It took an impossible event to make an impossible child, a loophole I could slip through. I am the Torch, but my power is for everyone else to wield, never myself.  
  
"I shouldn't even be here. I shouldn't be self-aware." She turns to look at me. "It's only through your sister that I am, Dawn. When she died the first time, when she fell into my flames as Master Nest unleashed me, her spirit was so strong and fierce that it resonated within me. It awoke something, something that was never meant to wake. The Powers and the First couldn't see me because the very thought of a Torch becoming something more than a simple chalice of power is so ludicrous it would never occur to them."  
  
I feel fresh tears rolling down my cheeks. I didn't know I had any left.  
  
"So it's over?" I ask her, begging for her to tell me I'm wrong. "They're all gone?"  
  
Then, suddenly, she smiles again. "Not quite yet, Dawn. Not quite yet. Again, remember what Cordelia said about what you are?"  
  
I'm confused for a moment, but then it hits me. I'm the Key, a tool created to harness the power of the Torch. Sure, the power of the Torch from another world, but still ...  
  
"You mean I can ... can I? But how? I ... I don't even have the slightest clue where to start. How can I do it? Can I bring them back? How? You have to tell me how!"  
  
Faith finally lets go of her, a tiny ember of hope in her eyes. Can I do this? Do I have the power ... well no, I don't have the power, but I can access the power. Can I? I don't know. How does one go about bringing roughly six hundred dead people back to life? Is it even possible? A terrible thing suddenly occurs to me.  
  
"They won't be ...," I begin, uncertain how to voice my thoughts. "They won't be like this, this thing, right? That thing that thought it was Buffy until Diana, I mean Buffy, told it that it wasn't and it reverted to type? They won't be like that, won't they?"  
  
Celeste shakes her head. "No, Dawn. Creatures like the Buffy double, or Giles and Darla for that matter, are created under very specific circumstances. We are going to do something different, you and I."  
  
"But how ...?"  
  
She shushes me and a moment later her hands are resting on my shoulders. A warm feeling spreads through me, as if I'm lying next to a fireplace in a comfy living room. A shiver of delight travels up my spine and a gasp escapes my lips as I feel it:  
  
Power! So much power! I felt the barest glimpse of it on the day this Doc creature used me to open up Glory's portal (or what we thought was a portal then), but now it's different. I'm standing right here and the thing I was created for is right here as well. I can feel it burning, the heat of a thousand suns dancing in the tips of its flames. So much power, so many possibilities.  
  
I see the strands that reach into the flames, so many thoughts and dreams. A billion and more people reaching out without knowing, touching the Torch to draw inspiration from it even as the Torch gives life to their dreams in turn. I see a world alive with the power of magic, the sparkle in a child's eye as it listens to a story about knights and dragons. I feel myself covered in fur as I run through the forest with a pack of werewolves and taste blood in my mouth as a vampire drinks from a dying victim. The wind rushes beneath my wings as a dragon takes flight in Romania and I shudder with delight as an apprentice sorcerer in England manages to make a feather fly with but a flick of his wand.  
  
It's all here, all that power, right at my fingertips. I was made for this, made to reach into these flames and wield them as I see fit. No, not as I see fit. I was made as a tool, someone else's will was supposed to guide me. I was never meant to do it by myself, that's why I never felt anything. A gun can't pull it's own trigger. It needs someone else to do it. A smile is on my lips. Just like Celeste, just like the Torch, I was never meant to be like this. Aware, alive, given my own will. But I am. And there is but one thing I want to do with this power. Only one thing I really want.  
  
I don't know how I do what I do. I could no more explain it than a human being could explain how it makes its heart beat. It's just something you do, something so ingrained into what you are that it can't be put into words. God, how did I ever stop doing it? How come I never felt all this power just under my feet in all these years? Right now I don't really care. I breathe deeply and the power flows out from the Torch, the flames embracing me, and I release it into the giant chamber around me.  
  
The world changes because I want it to. Magic, quantum theory, who gives a damn how it really works? I want, therefore it happens. I open my eyes and I see the lights. Souls, hundreds of souls. They are still here, none of them have departed. The brightest is the one Faith still cradles in her left hand, almost forgotten now. Angel's soul, torn out by his own hand, it's so bright. Another soul is right there, circling around it like a moon to a world, and I don't even have to guess to know who that is.  
  
The power flows outward from me like a thousand small fingers, caressing the flesh of cooling bodies, brushing across wounds that have killed. But I don't want them to be lethal, so they aren't. Flesh mends back together, blood regenerates at speeds that would make a Slayer green with envy. Avoiding the bodies of the demons isn't even a strain. They feel different, cold, unreal. Constructs of the Torch, I remind myself. Real only because we believed in them. I don't believe in them right now. I only believe that my friends and family should be alive again and so they are.  
  
Just one demon rises from its own ashes, dust reforming into a human shape even as a golden light flies from Faith's hand and merges back into its chest. But no, that isn't quite right, and it takes but a single thought to adjust it. To make it right once and for all.  
  
A gasp from hundreds of throats, air pumping back into lungs that are no longer still, blood pounding through veins that already started to wither. Hearts beating, synapses firing, eyes opening to take in the miracle that is happening right here. The elation that floods through me is almost too much to bear. I have done this. I am doing this. All this power and it's all mine. There is nothing I can't do. Nothing I can't accomplish. It's almost like I'm ...  
  
My thoughts are going off in a direction I don't like when Buffy rises from the dead (for the third time, too) and looks directly at me. It's all it takes. She is my sister, my mother, my anchor in this world. I look at her and I know that I have everything I need, everything I want. No, not quite. There is one more thing I want. One tiny little thing I need to change about myself.  
  
A moment later it's over and I feel myself falling to the floor, Celeste's hands gone from my shoulders. The flames are no longer embracing me. I don't feel them anymore. Everything seems smaller, more confined, and with a start I remember what my last wish was, the last thing I wanted.  
  
It's a very Pinocchio thing to do, I know, but just because it's corny doesn't make it any less real. To be a normal girl. Or woman, rather. Not a Key, not a ghost, just a normal human being. It's a highly underrated pleasure.  
  
"Dawn?" someone whispers and I feel a hand touching my cheek. A warm hand.  
  
"Buffy?"  
  
I open my eyes and she's there, smiling down at me while tears are in her eyes. Right here, right now, nothing else matters. Buffy sacrificed her life for me and now she's back. I brought her back. Maybe there is some fairness in this world after all. Just a little.  
  
I don't know how long we stay like that. All over the chamber people are back on their feet, looking around in wonder, hugging their friends and loved ones for all they're worth. I see a thousand questions on their faces, but none of them matter right now. I reach up and hug my sister and the rest of the world can just go take a number and wait right now. I'm busy with more important things.  
  
When Buffy and I finally let go of each other Angel is there and all it takes is a single look before the two of them are off in their own world. Part of me wants to groan, but it doesn't quite work with my lips stretched into a broad grin. Buffy and Angel look at each other and Angel is the first to break the silence.  
  
"I thought I'd lost you," he whispers.  
  
A moment later they're in each other's arms and the largest part of me melts into a mushy puddle, even as another part wants to tell them to get a room. I can barely see for the tears in my eyes.  
  
People come over; everybody's hugging everybody else. Tara sweeps me up in the most open display of joy I've ever seen from her. Even Willow's there, no longer sharing identical expressions with Catherine Madison. I didn't want them linked up in that creepy way anymore, so they aren't.  
  
When Angel and Buffy finally come up for air there is a strange look on her face.  
  
"You're heart's beating," I hear Buffy whisper, her hand resting on his chest.  
  
Yep, that one worked, too. Happy rebirthday, big sister! I think this one time we're gonna get our happily ever after. Especially you and Angel. I can't think of two people who deserve it more.  
  
TO BE CONCLUDED 


	38. Epilogue: Happily Ever After

The Angel's Knight, Epilogue - Happily Ever After  
  
#  
  
And so it was all over but the shouting.  
  
Not exactly like that, of course. No true story is ever really over, not even when large parts of it took place somewhere that is much closer to myth than reality. For the people who had given their all to defend their world, who had set all their many differences and personal problems aside, the story wasn't over, of course. For them the happily ever after came next, or the closest people will ever come to it in a world that isn't part of a fairy tale.  
  
Before that could happen, though, the revived heroes became aware of one final casualty of this final battle. Celeste had vanished amidst the commotion of resurrection, disappeared without a trace. With the fires of the Torch burning low it didn't take them too long to figure out what had happened. Celeste entire existence had been an impossibility, a blatant disregard of all laws of nature. When Dawn and her pooled their power to bring back the fallen warriors, it used up every last bit of power she had managed to gather for herself. The Torch still existed, of course, but its human incarnation was lost forever.  
  
Emerging from the underground battlefield the tired combatants blinked in the light of a new dawn. The eternal dust storm that had obscured Sunnydale for so long was gone. Whatever demons, vampires, or zombies might have remained outside had also vanished. None of them were so naïve as to believe that the world didn't still contain monsters such as these, but for that single moment none of them really cared.  
  
Angel and Buffy walked hand in hand in the morning light. There were many things to talk about, a lot of issues to work out. Angel was grieving for a daughter he had never really known. In the light of the new day, though, it could all wait for just a little while. Everything had changed. Destinies were fulfilled. For the first time in a long time this group of friends and allies was free to make their own plans and decide things for themselves.  
  
And decide they did:  
  
Faith and Gunn, who had danced around each other for years, had come to a realization when death nearly tore them apart. Faith was the one true Slayer, guardian of the Torch and protector of the balance between the natural and the supernatural in the world. Gunn was merely a man, but one who had traversed both the real world and that of myth his entire life. They were different, certainly, but both of them were happier together than apart, even when all they did was annoy the hell out of each other. Two months after the final battle in the chamber of the Torch Gunn proposed and Faith accepted. Another six months passed and they were married with Angel serving as Gunn's best man, Buffy stepping in as Faith's maid of honor, and Wesley giving Faith away at the altar. The couple's honeymoon took them to Paris, where, among other things, they cleaned out a large vampire nest and saved the French President from demonic possession. Some things never change.  
  
Willow, now separated from Catherine Madison, tried long and hard to make amends to Tara, the woman she still loved. Many thought the two witches would eventually get back together, or hoped at any rate, but it was not to be. Tara, even though her feelings for Willow were as strong as ever, found that the trust that had once existed between them simply wasn't there anymore. She could never let her guard down around Willow again. Eventually Tara found happiness elsewhere and Willow ... well, Willow attempted the same, but somehow never found what she was looking for, the sins of her past haunting her to her dying day. Not all stories have a happy ending.  
  
For Catherine Madison, now also alone in her own head again, things went a little bit better. For a long time Amy was quite weary of her mother despite Catherine's best attempts at regaining her daughter's trust. It helped, though, that Amy had acquired some experience of her own regarding the lure of dark magic and how it could tempt even the best of people. It took a long time, several years, but eventually mother and daughter managed to rebuild something closely resembling the family relationship they had once had and both their lives were happier for it.  
  
For Cordelia, driven blind and to the edge of insanity by the power of the visions she had received, the road to recovery was long. It took many months and long sessions with Maryke's coven to successfully exorcise all the magical energy that had built up inside her. It was all worth it, though, just for that feeling on the first day she was able to see again. Able to watch her first sunset in years, Cordelia couldn't help but feel that this might in fact be the happily ever after part of their lives.  
  
Xander retired from the demon-fighting business. Figuring that saving the world regularly for over twenty years and dying (even if it was but once) was enough for anyone (or anyone who wasn't a Slayer anyway), he returned to his family and vowed never to leave them again. He and Anya spent many happy years together and their family grew, their children eventually having children of their own. His nightmares of becoming the same kind of bitter old man that his father had been persisted, but grew sparser as the years progressed and never came true. He would eventually die at a ripe old age, surrounded by his great-grandchildren and with a smile on his lips.  
  
Giles had made his peace with his existence during the final battle, resolving that he was the man he wanted to be, no matter how he had originally been brought into the world. With his family around him, including the daughter he had thought lost so many years earlier, he was as happy as any man could possibly be. He never went back to the old junkyard at the outskirts of London. The remains of the first Rupert Giles were buried in the Hyperion's courtyard, next to where a grave with the name 'Buffy Summers' on the headstone had once stood.  
  
Wesley remained acting head of the Angel Foundation, its vast resources still used to help make the world a better place. It still employed and trained demon fighters, of course, but more and more its focus shifted towards giving a home to the homeless and feeding the hungry. For Wesley, whose sole wish in life had always been to serve a good cause, it was all he could ever ask for.  
  
Darla, as close to human as someone like her could ever be, decided to live the kind of life she had always tried to build for Celeste, the only human being she had ever truly loved. A few years after the final battle she met a man who didn't know a thing about vampires or magic and some time later she married him. They had three children, all of them girls.  
  
Dawn fulfilled her own last wish. A normal human woman now, she went about making up for over a decade of being little more than a ghost, living life for all it was worth. Sometimes she still reflected on what she was and where she had come from, but didn't allow it to get her down anymore. She was alive, she was a part of the world, and that was all she had ever really wanted.  
  
Angel kept his promise to personally visit all the various employees of Wolfram & Hart who had been involved in creating the Buffy doppelganger that had nearly managed to fool him. It helped, of course, that he was no longer bound by such things as lack of invitation or daylight, yet still retained most of the strength he had had as a vampire. It seemed Dawn had done a good job during her resurrection of him. He didn't kill any of the Wolfram & Hart people, or at least none of the purely human ones, but took great care to emphasize his extreme displeasure. Wolfram & Hart, now abandoned by the senior partners (or the thing they had believed to be the senior partners), remained quiet for a number of years afterwards and, though they remained a thorn Angel's side, never again returned to their former level of power and influence.  
  
And as for Buffy? Well, she and Angel certainly spent a lot of time together. There was a lot they had to work through, things such as Angel's never having been to Hell, Buffy's never having been dead, all the many truths about their lives they had learned in the span of just a few days. A fairy tale would have ended, of course, with them kissing and riding off together into the sunset, but this was not a fairy tale. Not completely, anyway.  
  
Angel had once said that he and Buffy did not belong to each other, but rather the world. A world that, even though it was now safe from those who would use it as a chessboard for their universal games, still contained vampires, demons, and the forces of darkness. People still needed someone to protect them from the things that went bump in the night. The balance between the mundane and the supernatural world still needed to be maintained, a job that could definitely do with more than a single Slayer.  
  
And so Buffy and Angel, neither of them quite human, both of them one-of-a- kind special, continued doing the thing they did best. There were many battles still to be fought, many evils that still needed conquering. They still belonged to the world, but there was a large part of each of them that belonged solely to the other. Their destinies fulfilled, they laid out their own road, one that would never branch off in different directions again.  
  
Their lives and deeds eventually became legend, tales that parents would later tell to their children. Great adventures that featured evil monsters, glorious deeds, and a timeless romance to touch the hearts of everyone that read of it.  
  
But those are different stories, to be told at another time.  
  
THE END 


End file.
